Second Chance
by Daenar
Summary: Two young JAG officers are assigned to headquarters - only to find that history seems to repeat itself. (Harm and Mac's last case, reinvestigated after 30 years)
1. Chapter One

'SECOND CHANCE'  
Author : Daenar (daenarchurill@hotmail.com) Disclaimer: JAG is property of CBS, Paramount and Belisarius Productions. 'Second Chance' is property of Trisha Yearwood, Mark Wright and MCA Nashville. No copyright infringement intended.  
  
Rating: PG-13 Category: Action, Romance (H/M) Spoiler: Two young JAG officers are assigned to headquarters - only to find that history seems to repeat itself...  
  
A.N.: I promise that this is a shipper story, and it will lead to a happy ending. But I still fear that some of you won't like it. Please, don't sue me... And I just wanted to add that I actually happen to like the names 'David' and 'Catherine', as two people in my family are called that. So, please, don't let your dislike of them being used in JAG fanfic prevent you from reading this story.  
  
I know that it's highly improbable that Bud should ever become an admiral, due to his injury. So let's just say that, thirty years from now, the Navy might have changed its policy in this respect, as well as in admitting women to the SEALs.  
  
Many, many thanks to Heather and Sarah for beta-reading! **********************************************************  
  
What do you do When love comes along And offers your heart A chance to move on With no guarantees No safety net You trust what you feel You take that first step  
  
Just close your eyes Reach for the moment Before it slips by Here is your second chance Take it and fly  
  
(Trisha Yearwood: 'Second Chance')  
  
***********************************  
  
July 6th, A.D. 2033 2334 ZULU White House Rose Garden Washington, D.C.  
"...although by that time his plane had already been hit twice by enemy fire. Still, the captain was able to land safely on Turkish territory where Colonel Shultz finally received the necessary medical attention. For putting the colonel's life and safety ahead of his own, Captain David Mackerras, United States Marine Corps, is awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. Captain Mackerras, front and center!"  
  
The tall, young man in impeccable dress blues stepped in front and sharply snapped to attention. President Chelsea Clinton took the award from its case, carefully pinned it to the captain's uniform jacket and then complimented and thanked him. The audience gave a round of applause and the ceremony was over. Mackerras left the stage and was immediately surrounded by well-wishers.  
  
Rear Admiral Bud Jay Roberts, Judge Advocate General of the Navy, rose from his seat, frowning. He knew everyone would let him pass if he pulled rank but even after all the years of his career he was still reluctant to do so. But on the other hand he hated to wait in line. At least today he wasn't alone. Shifting his weight from his prosthesis onto his good leg, Bud turned and smiled at his wife who had, for once, been able to accompany him to an official occasion.  
  
Ever since Captain Harriet Sims had become Brussels NATO headquarters spokeswoman on naval affairs five years ago, Bud was lucky if he saw her once every two months. With AJ away at Aviano and Lydia married in New Zealand, Bud felt lonely more often than he would admit, lonely and old as he had passed 60 a few years back. But he still had his job. And who was he to deny his beloved wife the chance to transfer to Europe? Ever since she had started doing public relations for the Pentagon, her career had progressed marvelously. Brussels was the pinnacle of her career. There was nothing more after that. She had told him so herself. How could he have held her back?  
  
She was still as beautiful as she had been when he'd first met her on the Seahawk during the crossing-the-line investigation with Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie.  
  
Rabb and Mackenzie... Bud's frown deepened. Today had been such a beautiful, sunny day - until he had first set eyes on his new inferior. A few days back, Bud had skimmed the captain's service record for the first time, and unwelcome memories had surfaced. Memories that he thought he had successfully buried long ago. Obviously, he had been wrong.  
  
A fighter pilot who had lost his full flight status due to an eye injury and had decided to turn lawyer instead. True, David Mackerras was a Marine and he flew Hornets, but the fact that he had, in the course of an investigation, saved his superior officer's life with a risky flight maneuver while being fired upon and therefore was awarded the DFC, had rung too many bells in Bud's head to make him stay calm. When he had received the invitation to the ceremony that was to be held in the White House Rose Garden, the uneasiness had deepened. But it hadn't been until this morning, when Capt. Mackerras had been presented to him, that Bud had felt his stomach knot tightly. Mackerras was at least 6'3 in height, was well- trained and well-built, had dark hair, amazingly blue eyes and the very same one-billion-watts flyboy-smile he knew to be Commander Rabb's. He had needed all of his iron will that he had built up during his rehabilitation to not flinch at the captain's looks.  
  
Harriet had by now managed to join him in the crowd. Smiling encouragingly, she hooked her arm through her husband's.  
  
"The similarity is incredible," she observed quietly, with her head motioning to the captain who seemed to be reveling in everybody's compliments.  
  
"Yeah. But it's more the situation that's getting to me," Bud replied. "You weren't there, but I can tell you, it was exactly the same back then."  
  
"Let's just get it over with, okay, hon?" Harriet gave him another quick smile before it was their turn to compliment Mackerras.  
  
When they had exchanged a few pleasantries, Bud began to walk down the path, making Mackerras follow him.  
  
"You're leaving, sir?" the young man asked.  
  
"Yes, and so are you, Captain," Bud retorted. "You and your new partner have been requested to investigate a case down at Pensacola."  
  
"Uhm, sir, my transfer over here was rather unexpected." Mackerras frowned slightly. "I didn't even get to know whom I would be partnered with."  
  
Bud motioned to a figure clad in immaculate dress whites who was walking in their direction. Mackerras had to squint his eyes almost shut to make out the officer as the late afternoon sun was shining directly into his eyes.  
  
The four officers came to a halt on the gravel path. Mackerras turned his head in surprise as he heard his CO inhale sharply. And in pure bewilderment he noticed that Captain Sims gave her husband's arm a quick encouraging squeeze, having paled a little herself.  
  
"Uhm," Admiral Roberts had found his voice, "Lieutenant, meet Captain David Mackerras, United States Marine Corps. Captain, this is Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh, United States Navy SEALs, your new JAG partner."  
  
'Uh oh, a female SEAL,' Mackerras frowned inwardly. 'Okay, I'm a Marine. I can handle it. Better start with a smile.' Flashing her a radiant grin, he held out his hand. "Dave," he said simply.  
  
The lieutenant, who until now had looked at her CO, turned to face him... and stared. Seconds ticked by. Three... four... five...  
  
Dave was starting to wonder if he had put on a base-cap instead of his cover or something similar that could cause a reaction as this. Just as he slowly started to let his arm sink, the lieutenant seemed to emerge from her state of haze and hastily grabbed his hand. "Cate," she said slowly, her voice wary.  
  
All at once, the brilliant sun was gone as one of the few fluffy clouds floated in front of it, shading Dave's view. He relaxed his eyes and for the first time really looked at the woman in front of him. And all of a sudden he felt his knees weaken and his stomach tighten while his vision started to blur.  
  
He was looking at the face of a woman that he was sure he had never met. He would have remembered having ever seen such captivating huge eyes. The woman had short brown hair, though not too short, and she was rather tall, at least 5'7. Her skin had a natural tan as if at least one of her ancestors hadn't been Caucasian and her handshake told of power and a strong will.  
  
Cate surely was a fascinating woman, but what troubled Dave considerably, was that, in spite of his brain telling him over and over again that he didn't know her, somewhere deep inside him he was convinced that they must have met before. And the situation began to outright scare him when he realized that Cate's reaction upon seeing him seemed to mirror his own feelings. Her attitude was all professional now, but her eyes couldn't hide the deep disturbance she was obviously feeling in her soul.  
  
As they just stared at each other, the admiral suddenly spoke up, his voice low and strangely uneven. "Do you two know each other?"  
  
"Yes, sir." They answered simultaneously, making their eyes widen still more as they realized what they had just said.  
  
Cate was the first to find her voice. She smiled a little embarrassedly. "Uh, excuse me, Captain, of course I don't know you. I just had some kind of a..."  
  
"Déjà vu, I know, Lieutenant," Dave cut in cautiously, his eyes never leaving hers. "Me, too."  
  
The admiral's voice was suddenly very tight and gruff. "Well, don't get too close, you have to work together," was all he choked out before hurriedly leaving the site without turning back.  
  
Harriet swallowed to will down her own uneasiness and then kindly addressed the two extremely bewildered officers. "You must excuse him. Today is... well, a strange day that somehow keeps bringing up unwelcome memories wherever he looks."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Dave didn't really know what to make of the Navy captain's enigmatic statement.  
  
Cate drew a deep breath, knowing she was bold to ask what she was about to, but something told her that the captain had the key for her very own stormy state of mind that was utterly inexplicable to her. "Ma'am... if it isn't too much to ask... I think it would be good if we knew what's troubling the admiral... for our future working environment's sake, I mean."  
  
Dave only nodded, pleased to find that his new partner seemed to be quick- thinking.  
  
Harriet smiled slightly. "It's a long story."  
  
"It might be worth it, ma'am," Dave said carefully, burning to know what on earth he had just been dumped into.  
  
"Okay, then." Harriet started to walk down the path, the young officers following her. "I guess I need to start right here, in the White House Rose Garden, on a day just like today, when a young pilot, who had turned JAG lawyer and was to be my husband's mentor, received his first DFC..."  
July 7th, 2033 0303 ZULU Base Guest Quarters Pensacola, Florida  
Utterly exhausted, Dave was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get some order into his racing mind. Today was supposed to be nice and easy. He had thought he would first be given a medal and then all the time he needed to adjust to his new designator. He had obviously been wrong. He had gotten far more than he had bargained for.  
  
First of all, his new CO seemed to resent him for something that he didn't know anything about. Then there was his new partner's reaction at seeing him. And finally his own frightening gut feeling that, for some inexplicable, cosmic, statistically impossible, whatever... reason he was sure that he knew her. Where from? He kept searching his mind, over and over again, but couldn't come up with anything that might help him.  
  
And then there was Captain Sims' disconcerting look-alike story. Dave had to concede that, at least from how she had related the events, too many little details seemed to mirror the captain's friends. Hell, something like this would have given him the creeps, too. 'Admit it, Stearman,' he silently told himself, addressing his mind by using his call sign, 'It did give you the creeps when you saw that face. But why?'  
  
A hesitant knock on his door shook him from his musings. "One moment, please." He quickly put on a T-shirt and some sweats and went over to open the door. He wasn't really surprised to see his new partner standing outside, a folder in her hand.  
  
"Uhm... Captain, I'm..."  
  
"Dave," he cut in with a slight smile.  
  
"Yeah, right." She looked away for a moment, nervously clearing her throat. Then she seemed to remember her SEAL training, squared her shoulders and firmly looked up to him again. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you. But I thought you might want to see this. Can I come in?"  
  
"Sure. Would you like a cup of tea?"  
  
Her smile was a little curious. "Where did you get it from?"  
  
"Electric kettle."  
  
"Wow. Yes, thank you, I might need a cup of tea."  
  
"Just sit down. I'll be with you in a minute." Dave closed the door behind her and then vanished into the bathroom. "Don't tell me you were still working, Lieutenant," he called while preparing the tea.  
  
"Cate," she called back, her voice holding an amused edge.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"No problem. No, I wasn't working. But I felt I needed to do a little research on something else and I thought you might want to see what I found."  
  
"A little secretive, aren't we?" Smirking, Dave emerged from the bathroom, carrying two steaming mugs with the teabags still in. He handed her one and then sat down on the chair opposite to hers.  
  
She just smiled back and handed him the folder.  
  
Raising his eyebrows quizzically, Dave took a look at the first page. It was a copy of a Washington Post article from the WP Internet archive, dated thirty years back. 'Bomb at Berlin U.S. Embassy: two Americans dead' he read. And the subtitle went on: 'Navy commander and Marine lieutenant colonel died in the blast. Were they involved in the bombing?' Beneath was a photo of the officers in question. Dave's mouth dropped open. He instantly understood his CO's reaction upon seeing them this morning. Those two, standing in front of the entrance to JAG headquarters, were Cate and his physical twins. And underneath the photo he saw the officers' names, just as he remembered Capt. Sims mentioning them a few hours back: Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie.  
  
He looked up to find Cate thoughtfully looking at him. "What do you say?" she asked simply.  
  
"Feels kind of odd to have a dead double that's accused of bombing an embassy," he stated slowly. "But somehow, from how Capt. Sims spoke of them, I can't bring myself to believe that they did it." He thumbed through the thin stack of paper. "Did you find anything that could tell us if they did?"  
  
Cate frowned. "No, and that's the weird part of it. I found lots of stuff about their careers. They must have been an outstanding team. But after this article everything just seems to be erased. No funerals. No further information. I even tried the military databases. Nothing. Okay, I didn't have the time yet to search thoroughly. But it strikes me as kind of odd that all this seems to be highly classified. Or just vanished from the records..." she let her voice trail off, insinuating her opinion where the information had gone.  
  
Dave took a sip from his mug, lost in thoughts. "I'm starting to wonder what kind of man he used to be," he said eventually, staring out of the window. "And if I happen to be anything like him."  
  
"From what I read, Rabb must have been singular," Cate answered quietly. "There is a portrait of him in here that was published in the Navy Times in 2002. It was him who took out the dirty nuclear missile that threatened one of our battle groups during the Afghan war."  
  
"Oh, really?" Dave shot her a surprised glance. "I heard about that in one of my classes. Didn't remember the name, though. What do they say about his personal background?"  
  
"Pretty much the same as Capt. Sims told us. Rabb seems to have been a man who easily turned a task into an obsession. Take his father. He went MIA in Vietnam on Christmas Eve of 1969. Rabb managed to trace him all the way up to Siberia, went in search of him on his own, stole a MIG, was shot down and still managed to find out his father's fate and eventually even got to know his Russian half brother."  
  
"And his military career survived that?" Dave's frown was incredulous.  
  
Slight chuckling preceded Cate's answer. "It seems that's where my own double steps into the picture. Mackenzie not only followed him around the world on her own account, it seems that she even convinced their CO that Rabb needed her there. She was with him in the MIG when they went down. And a little further down the article says that, in Afghanistan, she saved him when he stepped on a landmine. But the most extraordinary thing is that she even seems to have supplied the correct coordinates where he was to be found when he was lost at sea once. She claimed that she didn't know how she did it. But the rescue teams found him."  
  
"Wow." Dave needed a moment to digest the information. "So Mackenzie was kind of a guardian angel for him. He must have meant a lot to her."  
  
"And vice versa, apparently," Cate went on, perusing another article. "Here, for example. Rabb and Mackenzie were on the Watertown, doing an investigation, under the polar ice. They had no way of escaping and the ship's doctor all but killed both of them. Especially in her case it seems to have been really close, and if it hadn't been for the commander she would have died. Or over here." Cate's finger moved several paragraphs down. "Her husband died of a gunshot wound and she was accused of murder. Rabb defended her against all odds and cleared her name." She took another thoughtful sip of tea. "I wonder if they ever got involved," she mused.  
  
"Capt. Sims told us that they never did," he reminded her. "Although she seems to think that they were meant for each other and deeply in love, both of them."  
  
Cate smiled. "I think the captain is a very emotional woman. What she told us sounded a bit like out of a novel."  
  
"True..." he chuckled, studying his hands that were toying with his mug. "What do you know about Col. Mackenzie?"  
  
"Oh, that's nice, Captain," she playfully scolded him, "You don't know me and already you have me doing all the work and then just fill you in? Sorry, that's not gonna work." Her grin told him that she didn't really mind. She had a beautiful smile, he noticed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he replied with a smile. "I guess I should have told you right away that I tend to be curious."  
  
"I'll let it slip for now," she conceded, still grinning mischievously, silently enjoying their easy banter. "So, to appease your curiosity, here's what I know about Mackenzie. She grew up in Arizona, apparently with an abusive father. She was an alcoholic at sixteen and married early to get away from home. Eventually she decided to get her life back on track, dried out and ended up in the Corps' Officers Candidates School. Law school, JAG. That's it. She must have been one real iron-willed Marine, or she wouldn't have made it to Chief of Staff at headquarters."  
  
Dave grinned. "Well, that's us. Semper fi."  
  
Cate just grinned back. "I guess we might even have admitted someone like her among us SEALs. And we surely do have the choice, jarhead."  
  
Dave raised his mug over her head in mock threat. "Shut up, squid. I'm a no- nonsense Marine, too."  
  
They stared at one another for a few seconds, both smiling challengingly. Then Dave's mouth began to twitch violently and a suppressed snort from Cate was the answer. The officers finally allowed themselves to share a hearty laugh, both noting in slight astonishment how utterly comfortable with each other they had grown in no time.  
  
"I told you I was curious," Dave went on when they had quieted down a bit. "So, tell me, who's Lt. Catherine Raleigh?"  
  
"Well," she answered openly, "To make a long story short, I can sort of identify with the colonel. I'm no alcoholic but I'm trying to quit smoking for the fifth time," she admitted sheepishly, only to add with a tinge of pride in her voice, "My last cigarette dates five months back, that's four weeks longer than last time." Dave raised his eyebrows in amused, but obviously honest acknowledgement.  
  
"I had a happy family until I was sixteen," Cate went on, sobering. "I grew up in a very small town in Ohio. My parents loved us very much, and although we were always a little short on money, they always managed to make ends meet."  
  
"Us?"  
  
"Yeah. My little sister Barbara, me and... my twin sister Larissa." Her expression shadowed at her last words.  
  
"What happened?" Dave asked quietly, not knowing if he was in the place to do so, but deciding that Cate would tell him if he wasn't.  
  
Her voice was rather low and distant when she answered, not really addressing him. "The summer I turned sixteen, Dad and Larissa both died in a car accident. It was dreadful. Mom lost it completely. We had a pretty hard time to keep her from killing herself. That was when I ceased to be a happy child and instead became the caretaker of my family. In one week's time. Kind of defined my personality," she added, looking up at him and smiling wryly.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said simply, compassion shining in his eyes. "What made you join the SEALs?"  
  
"I won a scholarship for a local college. My politics professor had been a SEAL once, and one day he talked to me about joining the Navy. I thought it over and decided it would be the best thing I could do with my life, to provide for my family, too. So I did it. After a couple of operations they seemed to discover that I had a negotiating talent. So they asked if I was interested in becoming a lawyer. I finished law school last year. Any further questions, counselor?" Her smile had returned, at least partially. And Dave was glad about it.  
  
"No, thank you." 'At least for the moment,' he silently added to himself, resisting the sudden urge to ask her if she was currently seeing someone. 'Now, where did that come from?' he wondered, angry with himself. 'You just started working in the same chain of command. Don't screw it up, Stearman.'  
  
"What about you, Captain?" Cate challenged him with a slight smile. "Who's David Mackerras, the aviator-hero?"  
  
Dave winced at her words, blushing slightly. "Please, don't call me that, Cate. I'm no longer an active pilot." Seeing her questioning glance, he explained. "All I ever wanted to do was fly. I don't know where that came from 'cause there are no pilots in my family. My grandfather was a Recon Marine. So it was kind of logical for me to join the Corps. I trained to fly Hornets.  
  
"Five years ago, I was hit by anti-aircraft fire while flying a control mission over Afghanistan. I had to eject and went down somewhere in the desert. Upon landing, I suffered a face injury..." he indicated a long, thin scar that went from the middle of his forehead right down to the corner of his eye, "...that affected my vision. End of dream. I'm only glad I can still fly occasionally although I lost my full flight-status. And that I had an apt face surgeon who didn't screw up my looks," he tried to lighten the mood, flashing her his flyboy-grin. "Anyway, someone came up with the idea of becoming a lawyer and, well, here I am. Graduated last year, just like you."  
  
"And who's Dave, the private person?" she asked.  
  
He gave her a lopsided grin. "A spoiled rich guy from Beacon Hill, Boston. I had everything that a boy could possibly want, up to my first BMW in front of my door on my sixteenth birthday." His smile faded a little, his voice lowering as he went on, never breaking the eye contact. "But I didn't really have a family. My mom and dad didn't get on well, but never divorced, for social reasons. My dad runs a private investment firm that has clients throughout the upper class. Family problems would have ruined the reputation. So they stayed together, but they would always compete for my love. It made me sick. My uncle David, my father's brother after whom I'm named, was the only one who really cared. He's in the Corps, too, a lieutenant colonel, forensic pathologist. He supported me when I eventually dared to tell my parents that I intended to join. Any further questions?" he returned her question from before, still smiling.  
  
"What do you do when you're not trying to save the world, Captain?"  
  
He once more flashed her his contagious grin. "I look at the clouds."  
  
"What?" Cate let out a little incredulous chuckle.  
  
"I'm very much interested in meteorology. Came with the flying, I guess. And when it gets too dark to watch the sky, I either do a little jazz on my saxophone or watch a nice documentary on TV. You?"  
  
Cate smiled a little sheepishly. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"  
  
"Okay..." he acknowledged, curious.  
  
"I love reading Italian crime stories, like Donna Leon or Andrea Camilleri. And I go out watching birds," she told him.  
  
He cast her an inquisitive look. "What's wrong about birds or Italian crime stories?"  
  
"It's grown to kind of an obsession. I don't have much of a social life, you know..." she answered, sounding a little uneasy.  
  
Somehow her answer made him feel relieved. He again tried to shake off the feeling. "I guess you will have some now," he said, smirking, "From what I hear, Admiral Roberts sees JAG headquarters as some sort of a family. Seems to be a tradition that Rabb and Mackenzie's CO, Admiral Chegwidden, inaugurated and that was continued by Roberts' predecessor, Admiral Turner."  
  
"Oh," was Cate's sole comment. She didn't know if she liked what she had just heard, since she was normally comfortable on her own and was not used to having company too often. But on the other hand - if everyone at HQ turned out to be as easygoing as her new partner, she might as well give it a try, she resolved. After all, being a SEAL, she knew what teamwork meant. Maybe she could just stretch the concept out to encompass her private life as well.  
  
"I should get going," she said finally, gathering the articles and putting them back into the folder she had brought.  
  
Dave walked her to the door. In the doorway she turned, smiling slightly. "I think I might want to know more about what happened to Rabb and Mackenzie."  
  
"Yeah, me, too," he replied, smiling back warmly. "We'll start working on that as soon as we have a little more free time. As neither of us seems to have a significant other to devote time to..."  
  
"I'd love that, Dave," she said. "Good night."  
  
"To you, too." He was about to close the door, but thought the better of it and stepped in the corridor. "Cate," he called softly.  
  
She turned. "Yeah?"  
  
"Somehow I get the impression that we'll make a good team." He didn't really know what had made him say it but he was glad he had.  
  
She smiled. "I think so, too. Very pleased to have met you, Captain."  
  
Dave just nodded a smiling goodnight and closed the door, all of a sudden feeling very eager to continue working. His new job promised to be interesting, to say the least.  
July 13th, 2033 2112 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA  
A knock on her door made Cate look up from the file she had been intently studying. She couldn't quite wipe the guilty expression off her face as she quickly closed the folder and stuffed it in between the many others that were piling up on her desk. "Uh... enter!"  
  
"You there, Lieutenant?" she heard her partner's slightly amused voice.  
  
"Yeah, right behind the walls of paper."  
  
He stepped up to her desk and removed a stack of folders, enabling them to actually see each other. "Did you plan on setting a new working record, Cate?"  
  
She chuckled slightly. "Not really. But I hate going down to the archives. So I usually take up as much as I can at one time. And, by pure coincidence," she stressed the word, grinning a little mischievously, "I came by this." She handed him the file she had read earlier.  
  
Eyebrows slightly raised, Dave sat down opposite to her and opened the folder. Then she heard him whistle through his teeth. "Coincidence, huh?" he asked with a smiling wink, his voice barely hiding his curiosity. "I doubt you found this in our archive. Files that date more than 25 years back are stored elsewhere. So how did this get here?" he asked sternly.  
  
She grinned slyly. "I requested it."  
  
"While we were at Pensacola?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
Chuckling slightly, Dave shook his head to himself, turning to the first page that read 'People vs. Coen' and dated back to 2003. Sobering, he skimmed the first pages, getting a first insight into the case. Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie had been sent to Berlin to investigate a small-scale explosion that had caused minor damage at the new American embassy that had just been built next to the Brandenburg Gate, in the very heart of the capital of the reunited Germany. Responsible for the bombing was one Marine Gunnery Sergeant Ari Coen, retired after having fought in the 1991 Gulf War. Coen apparently wanted to protest against the U.S. trying to reestablish peace negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians. With the help of an ex-Mossad agent he had known in Kuwait, he had smuggled a small explosive device into the nearly completed building. But the bomb had defects and didn't detonate in full. Gunnery Sergeant Coen had been arrested by the Berlin Police. Rabb and Mackenzie had been ordered to fly out together with - Dave stared for a moment - Lt. Bud Roberts.  
  
"The admiral was in on this, Cate." Dave looked up to her in surprise.  
  
"Yes, I know. He was to sit second chair to Col. Mackenzie as trial counsel."  
  
Again Cate got a full-blown flyboy-grin. "I see you already studied the case. So, tell me, where does it start to get interesting?"  
  
To his slight surprise, his normally humorous partner frowned. "About three pages later on they seemed to be getting to the point. But all pages that might be of interest seem to be missing. I did a little research and I found that the explosion they were to investigate actually happened on June 30th, whereas the bombing that they seem to have died in took place on July 4th. And there's nothing to be found about that in the online files, either."  
  
Dave sighed. "That's unfortunate. All I could dig up was another article, taken from the TIME magazine, two years after the blast. Apparently, on July 4th, President Bush was in Berlin, meeting with the Israeli prime minister Sharon and the Palestinian president Arafat. The German chancellor Schroeder was present, too, although back then the German-American relations were rather strained because of the war in Iraq. But Germany's close relations to Israel as well as Palestine apparently outweighed the transatlantic strain. Whoever planted this bomb would have succeeded in killing four heads of government in one single strike if it hadn't, for some reason, exploded within the secluded security bunker. Had the attack been successful, it would have effectively prevented any negotiations from taking place. They were due to start that day, right there in our embassy, on neutral ground, so to say. And thankfully, they did. You know where those peace talks led, don't you?" He looked up to meet her thoughtful glance.  
  
"Wasn't that the first round of the talks that set the ground for the Treaty of Vienna of 2009?" she asked, trying to gather her history knowledge.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"This doesn't make sense."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"I mean, why would Rabb and Mackenzie want a hand in an attack to prevent middle-east peace negotiations? What did they have to do with the affair anyway? Neither of them was Jewish or Muslim," she reasoned, more to herself than to him.  
  
"Her grandmother was Iranian," Dave argued, failing to sound convinced by his own argument.  
  
She stared at him indignantly. "Oh, come on, Captain. You don't think that this would make someone like her, a high-ranking Marine officer, I repeat, a Marine, violate your cherished Code of Honor, now, would it?"  
  
He felt just a little offended, but willed himself to swallow it down, knowing his argument had been a stupid one. "Okay, okay..." he held up his hands in defense. "Just thought I'd mention it. But you're probably right."  
  
"Of course I am," she stated firmly.  
  
He frowned. 'A female SEAL, I knew it...'  
  
Seeing him frown, Cate realized she hadn't been too subtle in her choice of words. Blushing slightly, she decided to apologize. "Look, Dave, I... I'm sorry for my Code-of-Honor statement. That was out of line. We have ours and you have yours, they are pretty much the same and that's a good thing. I'm sorry," she repeated.  
  
Somehow he felt flattered that she felt the need to make up for her faux- pas. Casting her a tentative smile, he instantly forgave her. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"So," he looked at her expectantly, "Where do we go with this? We haven't really dug up much until now."  
  
Cate shrugged a little helplessly. "Honestly, I don't know. What about talking to Roberts? He was there with them."  
  
Dave's face took up a doubtful expression. "I don't think that will get us much of anything. Roberts still seems to want to avoid seeing us as much as possible."  
  
"Let's just give it a try, okay?"  
  
He sighed. "Okay, but I'll blame it all on you when he begins to chew us for this."  
  
She looked up, momentarily incredulous, only to find him smirking in mockery. Giving him a frowning smile, she slapped him on the arm. That is... tried to slap him on the arm. For, as if he had known beforehand what she was about to do, he had drawn back in time to make her slap stop in mid- air. Cate and Dave exchanged a confused look, both smiling embarrassedly. Judging that whatever had just happened would be treated best if ignored, they made their way for their CO's office.  
  
"Lieutenant Raleigh and Captain Mackerras for you, sir," came the yeoman's voice over the intercom.  
  
Bud involuntarily frowned. 'Just what I needed...' He wiped his face with his hand. "Have them come in, Merrick."  
  
The two young officers entered and came to attention in front of his desk. "At ease," he waved them off. "Have a seat. What can I do for you, Lieutenant, Captain?"  
  
Dave looked at Cate, his expression a little helpless. Then he drew a sharp breath and braced himself, facing the admiral. "Sir, we... uh... your wife informed us about your former colleagues here at JAG, Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie."  
  
Bud's frown intensified notably, making even the decorated Marine aviator flinch a little. Nevertheless Dave went on. "I beg your pardon, sir, for making such a bold request but... the lieutenant and I agreed that, in the interest of our working relationship with you, sir, it might be helpful if we knew what happened at the Berlin embassy. We dug up a little information on our own but there seems to be very little to be had. We thought... as you went with them... maybe you could tell us about that investigation... sir."  
  
Both officers stared and hastily jumped to their feet as they saw their CO get up, walk over to the window and look outside, seemingly seeing nothing. For a few long moments neither spoke a word. Then Bud, never looking at his subordinates, found his speech, his voice tight. "All you need to know is in the papers. Rabb and Mackenzie died in the blast."  
  
"But, sir," Cate spoke up, her voice ringing with doubt, "The question remains if they were really involved in this as everyone claims they were. With all due respect, sir, I find that hard to believe."  
  
"Do you?" Bud's voice was cold and guarded. His gaze never left the window.  
  
Cate cast her partner a puzzled frown. Dave's expression told her that the admiral's reaction was just as surprising to him as it was to her. 'Damn, Raleigh, you're a SEAL. You can handle this.' "Yes, sir, I do," she ventured boldly, waiting for Bud's reaction.  
  
"So what, Lieutenant?" Bud turned and glared at her. Cate was taken aback by the openly displayed hostility in her CO's eyes. But, she held his stare and suddenly, somewhere deep down, detected a frightening amount of desperation in the admiral's expression as well.  
  
Dave nervously cleared his throat. The situation was quickly getting out of hand. Better prepare for take-off. "Sir, I'm sorry we bothered you with our request. But you wouldn't happen to know someone who can help us investigate this?" As soon as the words were out, Dave knew he had made a mistake. 'Bravo Zulu, Stearman. Now he's at your tail.'  
  
With a few quick strides, Admiral Roberts stepped up to him and although Dave was several inches taller, his CO's stare made him snap to attention and stare straight out. He almost felt the admiral's nose on his chin.  
  
Bud barely controlled his fury. "This is none of your damned business, Captain!" he shouted. "Rabb and Mackenzie are not to be talked about again, not in this office, not in the bullpen, not anywhere near JAG. They betrayed their country and our trust and they got what they deserved. Period. No one is ever going to investigate this case again! Do I make myself clear??"  
  
"Yes, sir!" Dave and Cate shouted in unison, thoroughly shaken.  
  
Bud drew back a little, panting, and flashed each of his subordinates another killing stare. "Dismissed!" he hissed, deadly calm.  
  
"Aye, aye, sir!" The young officers exercised a by-the-book about-face and exited the office. Bud briefly closed his eyes and let himself fall into his chair. He had known that, sooner or later, the Rabb-Mackenzie issue would have come up. He just wished he'd had more time to prepare for the actual emotional impact. This brief exchange had been the exact replica of one of the many occasions when Harm and Mac had been chewed by Admiral Chegwidden. The expression in Mackerras' eyes - Bud knew that, the moment he had denied the information, he had kindled a dangerous flame within the aviator's soul. Dave would make the discovery of the truth his personal quest now, just like Harm would have. And Raleigh had made it clear that she wouldn't leave his side.  
  
Bud sighed deeply, wiping the corners of his eyes. Why did they have to be so similar to them? If they had only half of the heart and passion that he had once known in Harm and Mac, Bud knew he wouldn't be able to keep a professional distance. After so many years, after all that had happened, he still missed them dreadfully. But he knew he never again wanted to be so close a friend to anyone. He had to keep Raleigh and Mackerras out of his heart. Being close to someone just made you hurt all over at the end. Besides Harriet and his kids, Bud was determined to never ever let anyone become dear to him again.  
  
Once they had closed the admiral's door behind themselves, Dave and Cate, as if on silent agreement, both made a beeline to Cate's office. Dave shut the blinds and sat down opposite to Cate at her desk.  
  
"What was that?" he only asked, confused beyond belief.  
  
Cate studied her fingernails, her brow furrowing. "I have no idea." Her voice sounded defeated.  
  
"So they were in on it after all," Dave stated quietly, feeling a sharp pang of disappointment. He had come to like the commander and found him a person to identify with. This news clearly shattered the fine image.  
  
"They weren't," Cate answered distractedly, drawing invisible patterns on her desk with her left index finger.  
  
Dave looked up at her, his confusion still rising if that was even possible. "What do you mean, they weren't?"  
  
Cate stopped her movements and locked her gaze with his. "I saw his eyes, Dave. I swear, I have never in my life seen a man so desperate. This isn't just the despair one feels after the loss of friends or even after having been betrayed by them. This was anxious despair, the urge to let something out but having to keep it inside. There's something lying underneath, I'm sure of it."  
  
Dave felt himself captured by her intense glance. "How did you figure that out, Lieutenant?" he asked slowly, never breaking the eye contact.  
  
Cate's expression shadowed. "I had a lot of practice reading my mother's mind in the months that followed my Dad's and my sister's death," she explained in a low voice, averting her eyes.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Catherine." Dave gently covered her hand with his, feeling her fingers intertwine with his while his stomach tightened.  
  
Her beautiful brown eyes shone with unshed tears when she looked up. Dave's heart immediately went out to her. Cate's face lit up in a slight but sincere smile of gratitude. "Thank you," she only whispered. For a few moments they just sat in silence.  
  
"Dave?" Cate finally asked, noticing that their hands were still joined but feeling reluctant to break the contact.  
  
"Yeah?" his eyes were full of kindness and concern.  
  
"You want them to be innocent as much as I do, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Let's call Captain Sims in Brussels."  
  
The spell was broken. Dave drew back his hand and raised his eyebrows. "Don't you think you're taking this a little far now? Calling NATO headquarters for personal interest?"  
  
Cate earnestly looked at him. "She was the one who informed us in the first place. I think if she knew something she wouldn't hold it back."  
  
His expression clearly showed his doubts but he was willing to give it a try. "If you call her right now maybe she's still at the office. Do you have the number?"  
  
Cate pulled a business card out of her wallet, giving him a genuine smile. "Up to her personal extension." With that she took the receiver and dialed the number, switching on the loudspeaker.  
  
"Sims."  
  
"Captain Sims? Please excuse me if I'm disturbing you, ma'am. This is Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh from JAG Headquarters."  
  
"Lieutenant!" Harriet's voice was cheerful. "That's a nice surprise. How are you and Captain Mackerras?"  
  
"Uhm... fine, ma'am, thank you," Cate replied self-consciously. 'This was a bad idea, Raleigh,' she scolded herself.  
  
Harriet at once detected the tension and had her suspicions. She immediately decided to spare the young woman the need of having to talk to her about Bud. Harriet was sure that this was why Cate had called. "Let me guess: you asked my husband about Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie and he kicked your sixes," she only stated, her voice neutral.  
  
"Well, yes, ma'am." Cate was at a loss of words at Harriet's direct approach.  
  
"So now you feel you need to collect information on the events to ease the tension at JAG?" Harriet went on.  
  
Despite herself, Cate had to chuckle slightly. "That's right, ma'am."  
  
They could hear Harriet smile as she answered. "I expected as much." Then she seemed to sober. "I'm sorry I can't tell you anything. I'm not allowed to. But I know someone who might be able to fill you in."  
  
"That would be very helpful, ma'am. Who is he?"  
  
"His name is Clayton Webb and he used to be a CIA deputy director. He was with them when the bombing at the Berlin embassy occurred, but he left the Agency after that. He's living entirely by himself now, up north in Yukon Territory."  
  
"Wow, that's far north. How do we get there, ma'am?"  
  
"Is Captain Mackerras with you, Lieutenant?"  
  
Cate handed Dave the receiver. "I'm here, ma'am."  
  
"Do you know how to fly an antique biplane?"  
To be continued... 


	2. Chapter Two

'Second Chance' - Part Two Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
July 15th, 2033 0223 ZULU Dave's apartment Georgetown, D.C.  
The insistent ringing of the phone made Dave's head jerk up. He hadn't fallen asleep over his Post, had he? Frowning, he reached over to where his cordless phone lay on the coffee table.  
  
"Mackerras."  
  
"Flyboy, it's me."  
  
Unbeknownst to him, a smile slowly spread over his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Hey, ladysquid," he said softly, "To what circumstances exactly do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"  
  
Cate chuckled. "Just shut up, will you?" she replied just as softly.  
  
Sensing that this wasn't just another casual phone call like the ones they had gotten accustomed to over the last few days when they had talked a lot about the case and its implications, he sobered. "You okay, Raleigh?" he asked, concerned.  
  
She inhaled deeply and let out the air in a determined manner. "Yeah. It's just... I just got off the phone with Patricia Burnett."  
  
"With whom?" he asked, at a loss.  
  
"Before she remarried, her name was Rabb."  
  
"What? The commander was married?"  
  
Cate's smile made its way across the phone line. "No. She's his mother."  
  
Oh God. For some reason Dave felt his stomach sink. "Why did you call her?" he only asked quietly.  
  
"Because I had the feeling that if there was anyone who wouldn't hesitate to tell the truth, it would be her. Mac... umm... the colonel doesn't have any living relatives left. So I called Commander Rabb's mother instead although that probably should have been your job."  
  
"Ah..." made Dave, letting his voice trail away. He wasn't really sure if he'd have had the guts to call Mrs. Burnett. "Uh... what's she like? How did you find out about her anyway?"  
  
"I called the airfield that Capt. Sims told us about, you know, where Ha... where the commander kept his Stearman."  
  
Dave smirked to himself as he cut in: "Call them by their names, Cate. I tend to do that, too. It's kind of strange you should feel so connected to someone you never knew," he added in a low, thoughtful voice, "Isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah. It scares me quite a bit, Dave," Cate quietly admitted. "Anyway," she went on, trying to lighten the mood, "Harm's biplane is still there. And the guy actually seemed to be pleased to hear that there was someone who still cared for it."  
  
"For 'her', SEAL," Dave gently corrected her. The tender way that he spoke of an old plane, just as if it were an old lady, made her smile. Dave went on. "I'm sure she even has a name."  
  
Cate couldn't suppress a giggle. "Eeyop."  
  
Dave's eyebrows went up. "Don't tell me he called her..."  
  
"Sarah. You get the picture, Marine," she cut in, laughing. "But the guy at the airfield claims that the plane was named after Rabb's grandmother, not after the colonel."  
  
"I'll believe it when I see it," Dave only commented dryly.  
  
"Well, whatever." Cate was obviously eager to go on. "He told me that 'she' was still in excellent condition and that we could always take her up. We just had to get the documents from Harm's mother in California. So I researched her number." Dave could hear that she had sobered again during the last words.  
  
"How did she react?" he asked cautiously.  
  
Cate let out a sigh. "At the beginning it wasn't nice. She was as cold as ice, barely said a word when I explained the reason for my call. Then she, very calmly, asked me if I was out of my mind. I explained what had led us to this point and she eventually seemed to understand that we're not looking for some sensation. I left out the part about our very personal involvement, though."  
  
"Why? I'm sure she would have understood better if she knew our motives," Dave argued.  
  
He heard her swallow. When she went on, her voice was low. "Dave, that woman was broken. Entirely and irreversibly. I mean, imagine: she's young, married to a naval aviator - Harm Senior - who's deployed to a war zone. She is told that he's MIA when her only son is six years old. She tries to be both mother and father to Harm, sees her son grow up to follow his father's footsteps. She almost loses him in that ramp strike. But he grows up to be an outstanding lawyer. He plays the hero without thinking, gets 'this' close to dying several times and yet always comes out unscathed. And then she loses this extraordinary child of hers in a terrorist attack that he, of all people, is proclaimed guilty of. She - for whatever reason - is bound to keep quiet. I could never tell her: 'hey, you know my partner's the spitting image of your son.'"  
  
"Okay, got it," he acknowledged. "So... what did she say about the documents?"  
  
"I wouldn't have thought she'd do it. But she said she'll get them to us when we set off in two days from the airfield."  
  
"Wow." Dave's face again lit up to a smile, both at the thought of going up in the very plane that had given him his call-sign, and at the thought of taking his friend with him. Friend. Was Catherine Raleigh his friend? Dave was determined to believe she was, just as he was ready to be hers if she wanted him to. 'Please do, Cate.'  
  
"Hey, you still with me?" Cate's voice was just a little puzzled.  
  
Dave shook himself from his reverie. "Yeah... sure... I'm sorry. So... we set off to the Yukon the day after tomorrow at 0700, right?" he asked lightly, just to say something.  
  
"Yes. And don't forget the coordinates that Capt. Sims gave you," she admonished him.  
  
"I won't," he replied with an audible smile. "By the way, did you know that my call-sign is 'Stearman'?"  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"No, really."  
  
"How did you come by it?"  
  
"When I was five or six, my uncle gave me a little model of a Stearman and I always had it on my desk on the carrier. Odd coincidence, isn't it?"  
  
Cate's voice took up a resolute edge. "I think it's time we stopped talking of 'coincidences' here, Captain. This is weird and scaring the hell out of me but I refuse to accept that the both of us stumbled into nothing else than a statistically exceptional cluster of similarities!"  
  
Dave's answer was a hearty laugh, albeit tinged with a trace of uneasiness. "Whoa, power down, squid, you needn't try and convince me of something that I could have said myself." He sobered, the uneasiness surfacing clearly. "What would you call it then?"  
  
"I don't know." Cate sounded somewhat distant and lost in reflection. "If we were in India, we'd probably speak of reincarnation," she tried her escape in a joke that, at the same time, sounded half-earnest. "After all, I was born only a few weeks after they died."  
  
"Me, too," Dave chuckled, at the same time feeling his palms get sweaty.  
  
"You don't really believe that, do you?!? Umm... sorry for the sharp tone." Cate became aware that she was clutching her receiver way too firmly.  
  
"Uh... no, of course not. So," he opted for a slight change of topic, "When's your birthday?"  
  
"September 24th, 2003," she gladly took the offered line of conversation.  
  
"Mine's August 1st. At least the dates aren't theirs," he added softly, sensing an odd feeling of relief at the discovery.  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
As the silence stretched, Cate reluctantly decided to end the connection. They both needed rest and time to prepare for what could easily become a journey to their very own roots. "Do you know how to get to the airfield, Marine?"  
  
"Yeah, I have the address on my laptop. Dress in layers, okay? That'll keep you even warmer than the best winter clothes. Remember we'll be immobile up in the air."  
  
"Aye, sir!" she acknowledged mockingly, chuckling. "Good night, Dave," she added in a gentle tone, "And, odd as it may seem, I'm looking forward to our trip."  
  
"So am I," he answered just as warmly, smiling. "Good night, Cate."  
July 17th, 2033 1508 ZULU Airfield near D.C. VA  
"She is a beautiful bird." Dave slowly walked around the old biplane, awed. The Stearman sure was covered with dust, but apart from that one could easily see that the plane had been restored with the love of a pilot and been taken good care of ever since.  
  
"That she is," the technician who had taken him and Cate into the hangar acknowledged. "My dad knew the commander to whom she belonged. Sad story..." he let his voice trail off, uneasy.  
  
"Yeah," Dave agreed, lost in thoughts, still examining the plane. Cate only nodded consent, asking herself for the umpteenth time if they really knew what they were about to do.  
  
From behind they heard footsteps approaching, two people, seemingly a woman and a man. Cate turned... and blanched. As did the woman whom she was facing. A tall, white-haired, well-dressed old lady who was walking with the help of a cane and holding a document folder in her free hand, shaking and staring at her as she would at a ghost. A man in his fifties who had accompanied her, worriedly took her arm, trying to hide his own shock as well. "Thank you, Sergei, it's okay," Cate heard the woman whisper tonelessly, a pained expression in her eyes.  
  
Cate hated what she had to do next but she decided she'd better get it over with as soon as possible. She turned and tapped her partner on the shoulder. "Dave, there's someone who wants to meet you," she said in an unsteady voice.  
  
Clueless, Dave turned and smiled at the two people who had just arrived. Cate couldn't bear to watch.  
  
"Oh my God..." The woman's voice caught in her throat and she frantically grabbed the man's arm to steady herself. Her expression was one of pure horror and indescribable pain. Dave inhaled sharply. He didn't need an introduction to know who she was.  
  
The man swore under his breath in Russian and then motioned for the technician to get a chair that he made the woman sit down on. "I'm right here, Trish," he said, his voice carrying traces of a Russian accent that had been smoothed by many years of living in the States. "Let me handle this." He straightened, leaving one hand on the old woman's shoulder that was shaking with silent sobbing.  
  
Dave subconsciously reached for Cate's hand. She gladly let him take it, drawing strength from the gentle touch. They could see that the man was deeply shaken, too, but he tried to keep his composure, smiling tentatively as he addressed them.  
  
"My name is Sergei Zhukov. I am Commander Rabb's brother. I suppose you must be Lieutenant Raleigh and Captain Mackerras."  
  
Cate instinctively felt that this was Dave's turn to speak. She only squeezed his hand for encouragement. Dave was extremely grateful to have her by his side. He felt a strong inclination to run and hide but at her gesture, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr. Zhukov. I'm very pleased to meet you and I can only say that we're very sorry to have caused such pain with your..."  
  
"Stepmother," Sergei helped in with a small smile.  
  
"Er... yes." Dave willed his thoughts back on track. "We honestly didn't expect that you'd come in person. But maybe you understand now why all this is so important to me and my partner."  
  
The woman took a resolute breath, reached for her stepson's arm to get up and tried a smile. "I am Trish Burnett, Commander Rabb's mother. I think we do indeed understand you," she said quietly. "I guess Admiral Roberts was quite startled at seeing you?"  
  
Cate returned the woman's smile. "Yes, he was. But we were, too, at seeing each other," she added in a low voice, averting her eyes. "And that was the weirdest part of it. We never met before."  
  
Despite her earlier reaction, Trish was totally calm now. She hadn't the slightest idea about just what caprice of nature had caused all this, but she was determined not to be surprised by anything that might come up now. Maybe some day, they'd understand it. Maybe never. But it was clear that these two young people were innocently connected to her son and his love in some strange way. So they were connected to her, too. Trish didn't know yet how she felt about that but she tried to approach the situation without bias. "Did you, by any chance, meet in a rose garden?" she asked calmly, careful not to startle the young couple.  
  
Nevertheless, her question caught Dave and Cate off-guard. They stared, first at each other, then at Trish, nodding.  
  
Trish smiled wryly. "How come I'm not surprised? Harm told me once that Sarah's uncle asked her where she'd 'found that sailor' as he put it. And she just answered 'In a rose garden, Uncle Matt.' Somehow, this little episode always manages to cheer me up when I'm lost in painful memories. I know that they were destined to be together. They never were in life - at least now, in eternity, they finally are."  
  
Cate's lower lip started to tremble and she bit it until it hurt. She felt Dave's fingers intertwine with hers as if he were seeking a stronger hold. Silently, she made a vow: 'Mac, I swear that we'll set right whatever they wronged you with. I believe, and I know that Dave does, too, that Harm and you are innocent. We will make the whole world see it. I promise.'  
  
As if he'd read her thoughts, Dave gave them a voice. "Mrs. Burnett, Mr. Zhukov, we have no idea what really happened thirty years ago, but somehow, Cate and I know deep down that Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie could never have behaved other than honorably. We give you our word of honor that we'll set right what went wrong back then. We'll make everyone honor their memory the way they deserve."  
  
Trish's eyes filled with tears again but she kept her composure as she closed the distance and embraced the young officer that was a stranger to her but yet somehow closer to her heart than most had ever been. "Thank you," she only whispered, grateful that he warmly returned her embrace. Then she stepped back and hugged the woman at his side in a way that she'd always hoped to hold her daughter-in-law once. "And I'll pray that you succeed in setting your own souls at ease," Trish continued, "And that you'll return safely."  
  
With that she handed the documents to Dave who took them without looking at them. He couldn't have read them anyway. His vision was blurry.  
July 20th, 2033 0537 ZULU Airstrip near Cole's Ridge North of the polar circle Yukon Territory Canada  
Dave eased 'Sarah' down and gently made contact with the ragged-looking tarmac. During the three days of their journey he had learned to adore Harm's plane. She reacted smoothly to the smallest movements and willingly did everything that he made her do. Dave felt almost sorry that they'd finally arrived.  
  
Cate had grown accustomed to flying rather quickly. When they had landed somewhere near Minneapolis the first day, she'd been sore and freezing. A nice dinner and a good night's rest had made her recover quickly, though, and the next day, their arrival at Jasper, Alberta, had already been less painful. Today's journey had been really fun. They were lucky with the weather and polar summer let the sun still shine, although it was past 2230 local time.  
  
Dave helped Cate get out of her seat. Without wanting to acknowledge it to themselves, both of them had begun to look forward to this little moment that each day offered them an excuse to be in each other's arms, be it for seconds only. Smiling a little self-consciously at each other, they then set off to secure 'Sarah' in a hangar and rent a jeep.  
  
It was about midnight when they finally reached the coordinates that Capt. Sims had provided them with. They were in the middle of nowhere, sub-arctic birch woods as far as they could see.  
  
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Dave looked at his partner with upraised eyebrows.  
  
She frowned back. "You may be a Marine, but let me tell you something: swallow your arrogance. A SEAL never gets lost." She glared at him, at the same time finding it hard to prevent the corners of her mouth from twitching.  
  
Noticing the slight movement, Dave shot her a grin and took his hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, ladysquid. I didn't say anything."  
  
"Better for you," she muttered with a satisfied grin. Then she studied the GPS readings again. "Okay, according to the computer, this Webb guy should be..."  
  
"Right behind you. Freeze!" came a hostile voice from behind them. Cate and Dave slowly raised their hands over their heads, at a loss, senses on high alert.  
  
"Get out of the car and turn around, slowly. No tricks, understood?" the voice bellowed.  
  
Dave and Cate exchanged a look and did as they were told. Hands still up in the air, they slowly rounded the car and came to a halt side by side, face to face with the unfriendly end of a machine gun. The man who aimed at them was of average height. His hair must have been something in between sandy- colored and light brown once. Now it was mostly gray. The man wore blue jeans and a leather jacket, but what immediately caught the officers' attention was the expression on his tanned face: hostile, worn-out, bitter, disillusioned. He must have been handsome years ago, but in the sixty-plus years of his life he must have seen the world at its worst more than once. The last time had finally broken him.  
  
"Come out of the shadow," he sharply told them. Dave and Cate stepped forward to a spot where the midnight sun lit the woodland floor.  
  
The man in front of them suddenly dropped his gun, eyes open wide. "This is insane..." he said tonelessly.  
  
"Mr. Clayton Webb? We are Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh and Captain David Mackerras, United States Navy JAG Corps. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"  
July 20th, 2033 1542 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada  
Dave stepped out on the small front porch, hugging himself tightly as the morning air was cool. He took several deep breaths and enjoyed the prickling feeling the fresh air caused in his lungs. He had slept divinely, cuddled up on the small couch with his partner, surrounded by the deepest silence he had ever experienced.  
  
Last night, after somehow shaking himself from his shock, Webb had only made them follow him and, with as few words as possible, told them to go to sleep and that they'd talk in the morning. Then he had left them a bottle of water and a few muffins that he'd apparently made during the day, had turned and slammed the door that separated the living-room from the small bedroom. Right now he was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Cate was still inside, sleeping. A smile tugged at the corner of Dave's mouth. He had intended to leave her as much room as she wanted but as soon as they had lain down for the night, she had, somewhat drowsily, moved over and spooned up to him, obviously not fully aware of what she was doing. Well, who was he to complain? He had buried his nose in her hair and gently held her in his arms, becoming aware that it had been way too long since he'd held any woman this way.  
  
Dave couldn't help but think of his alter-ego. 'I'm sure you know the situation, Harm,' he silently told him, smiling. 'Her presence starts driving you crazy and yet you'd never dare to make a move... how on earth did you endure that for all those years? Or is there something we don't know?'  
  
Now Cate and he were facing what might turn out to be the decisive day of their quest. Dave's stomach was tightening considerably as he was thinking over and over again what they might learn from their mysterious contact. Captain Sims had sounded as if Webb might be the key to the riddle - and his behavior last night had done nothing but add to that impression.  
  
A low creak of the wooden floor made him turn his head. Cate was standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her dark hair tousled in a way that Dave thought was simply lovely. 'How can she look so cute just out of bed?' he wondered. "Hey," he made, smiling.  
  
"Hey yourself," she replied with a smile. "Did I... umm... I hope I let you sleep," she added a little self-consciously, apparently aware of how they'd spent the night.  
  
Dave just grinned back. "Couldn't have slept any better. You?"  
  
She blushed. "Same here."  
  
A thumping noise interrupted them just as the situation threatened to turn awkward. Clayton Webb stomped onto the porch, carrying a basket with groceries. "I figured you wouldn't be accustomed to moose filet for breakfast," he muttered instead of a greeting, rushing past them and vanishing inside, never looking at them. Cate and Dave just exchanged an astonished glance.  
  
Half an hour later they were sitting at the little round table, a mug of coffee in their hands and fresh pancakes on their plates. Webb had brusquely cut off any attempts to help or at least thank him for the efforts he was making to accommodate them. Now the JAG lawyers just waited in silence for the ex-CIA agent to make up his mind and speak to them.  
  
Eventually he did. "So what is it you want to know?" The hostility in his tone hadn't lessened one bit.  
  
Dave decided that straightforwardness would be appropriate. "What happened to Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie?" he simply asked.  
  
Webb's mug froze in mid air. He slowly lifted his glance and glared at the two young officers. "That's none of your damned business!"  
  
"With all due respect, sir," Cate was getting angry but managed to control her voice, "It sure as hell is. With everyone staring at us, making odd comments, the admiral all but refusing to see us, how are we supposed to work? I have no inclination to take a career damper just because of some dead colleague that I happen to resemble to!"  
  
Webb jumped to his feet. "Don't you dare speak of them so carelessly!" he raged. "Sarah Mackenzie and Harmon Rabb were the closest thing to friends I ever had and they were special in every respect! I want to remember them the way I saw them, so don't - you - ever - mention - those - names - again, do you hear me?" The raw pain in his voice was clearly audible although he tried to mask it with his fury.  
  
'Mac, help!' Cate silently implored as she quietly stood up and found herself face to face with the older man. She let him take a few deep breaths in silence. When he had calmed down a bit, she placed a gentle hand on the agent's shoulder, hoping that her intense glance might somehow let him see his dead friend in her. Strangely, it worked.  
  
Webb swallowed hard. "You're so much like her," he said very low, his voice ringing with emotion that made Cate suspect that secretly, Sarah Mackenzie might have been more than just a friend to him. Webb averted his glance. "You could never understand."  
  
Cate cleared her throat. "I know it sounds crazy, but... I think I do. Ever since I was thrown into this weird situation and started to research her, I can't fight the feeling that Col. Mackenzie's a lot closer to me than many people I actually know. I read how she handled her cases and I catch myself thinking 'That's just the way I'd have done it.' I hear people talk about her and I can almost guess how she reacted to this or that. I even started to think about what Mac would do in certain situations that I find myself in and I kind of rely on the decisions that I think she would have made. Mr. Webb, believe me, this whole affair scares me like few things on earth have but I can't help it, I need to know..." Cate stopped, helpless.  
  
The agent just studied her features for a few long moments. Then he lifted his hand and covered hers where it still rested on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Call me Clay," he whispered with the first hint of a smile that he had shown since their arrival. Cate answered with a tentative smile of hers.  
  
Dave had been watching the exchange, feeling an odd sting of jealousy as he witnessed the connection that was building up between his partner and the man facing her. He craved to break the spell but didn't dare to step in, knowing that Cate had gotten to a crucial point where the agent was willing to share his knowledge of the affair. But Clayton Webb himself saved him from his uneasiness. The agent turned and instantly recognized the look on the captain's face. Starting to chuckle softly, he shook his head. "And if this isn't good old Harmful Rabb all over," he softly stated. "Nature played the two of you a mean trick, you know? Of all combinations of two stubborn people..." He cast both officers a wry smile. "Don't worry, Captain. I never stood a chance with Mac. I won't even try my luck with your friend."  
  
Astonished, Cate quickly turned her face to her partner to find him studying his mug, thoroughly embarrassed. Feeling her stomach do an odd little flip, she bit back a smile, once again cleared her throat and sat down at the table. "So, will you help us?" she asked the older man, looking at him as he, too, resumed his place.  
  
Again a pained expression crossed Webb's features. "Why do you want to know about Berlin?" he asked quietly.  
  
Setting down his mug, Dave spoke up now. "As Cate already told you, sir..."  
  
Webb, with a slight smile, raised his eyebrow.  
  
"I'm sorry. Clay." Dave felt himself relax at the realization that the agent hadn't offered a higher level of intimacy to his partner than he had to him. "Dave," he said, offering his hand. Clay reached over the table and shook it.  
  
"Anyway," Dave went on, "As Cate already told you, we seem to have some strange connection to your friends. Heck, we even felt as if we knew each other when we first met!"  
  
Clay cast a surprised glance in Cate's direction. She only nodded, shrugging helplessly.  
  
"And that's why we know that something's terribly wrong with the story that's known about the Berlin attacks."  
  
Again, Clay looked up sharply. "What do you mean?" he asked warily, scrutinizing Dave's glance.  
  
The aviator's stare didn't waver. "I mean that Cate and I are convinced that your friends would never have acted dishonorably, that someone is blaming them for something they never did, that this someone even knows who's the real culprit, that the world should finally remember those two extraordinary people the way they deserve and," Dave's stare seemed to become even more intense, "That whoever knows the truth should finally stand up and give them back their honor."  
  
Taking a swig of his cold coffee, Clay turned to look out of the window, in deep thought. "I can't," was all he said.  
  
"Why not?" Cate's voice was perfectly neutral.  
  
"Because of Bud and Harriet."  
  
"The admiral?" Cate and Dave had spoken simultaneously, aghast.  
  
"Yeah." Clay's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I didn't care about my own career but they threatened Bud that his family would have to live in constant fear if he told the truth. That they supposed someone would always come after them. And - and I think that weighed even heavier - the Secnav nailed him to his oath to serve his country. He told Bud that keeping the affair classified was a matter of national security. The last peace talks seemed to have finally set off in the right direction. So Sheffield said that, on presidential orders, the two people that had so conveniently died right at the center of action had better take the blame for what happened, so Israelis and Palestinians couldn't blame each other of undermining the peace process."  
  
"But for what reason would two high-ranking American officers want to kill four heads of government?" Dave felt there was some detail that he didn't get.  
  
Clay's chuckle was bitter. Still he didn't look at his guests. "The world was so glad that the attack had failed that all parties were actually very eager to finally get to a solid solution of the conflict. Everyone was afraid to disturb the negotiations. So people were happy to have found two scapegoats and they were content with the explanation that Mac acted because her grandmother was Islamic and that Harm helped her because he was in love with her."  
  
"That's ridiculous!" Cate blurted out, enraged. "Here are two people who put their lives on the line for the well-being of others more often than you'd think possible and all the world can think is to dishonor them!"  
  
Clay's glance was painfully sad when he turned it back at the officers. "It's worse," he said very low. "The world denies honoring them for having saved the lives not only of four heads of government, but of over two hundred people in the embassy that day," Clay's voice threatened to break, "By consciously deciding to sacrifice their own." He quickly got up and left the room, leaving Dave and Cate staring at each other, horrified.  
  
They found Clay sitting in the sun on a fallen trunk at the back of the cabin. Sitting down at either side of him, they noticed that the ex-agent had been crying. Cate silently put her hand on Clay's thigh, exercising a little soothing pressure.  
  
"It still hurts like it was yesterday," Clay eventually said in a low voice. "Harm and I had an argument once about a sunken submarine. The CIA kept the affair classified for far too long, leaving the families without notice of what had happened to their loved ones. I told him that the crew, being on a secret cold-war mission, had agreed to the possibility of 'vanishing' from any records. But Harm convinced me and the board of inquiry that at least the families had a right to know the truth. So they were told what happened. To think that Bud and I could never do the same for Mrs. Burnett or Sergei or Col. O'Hara..."  
  
"But did anyone ever try to find out what happened?" Cate asked.  
  
"Oh, yes, many did. Admiral Chegwidden and later Admiral Turner tried to have the affair declassified. But I guess they would have needed Harm to get through with it." Clay smiled melancholically. "That man could talk you into nearly anything. Bud searched for independent witnesses but had to be careful because he was being watched closely. We had support from even Australia. A naval officer to whom Mac had once been engaged, Cmdr. Mic Brumby, tried several independent approaches to clear her and Harm's names. Nothing."  
  
"Why do I get the impression that Admiral Roberts has been under more pressure to keep quiet than any of you?" Dave's frown was impressive.  
  
Clay swallowed heavily. "Because he's the only one who actually saw them die."  
  
Cate hated dwelling on the subject but she felt she had to understand the relationship Roberts had had with his superiors. "Were they close?"  
  
Heaving a sigh, Clay nodded. "The best of friends. Harm and Mac were godparents to his son, and I think that without their support, Bud and Harriet wouldn't have made it through the death of their daughter or through the difficult times when Bud had lost his leg."  
  
Dave and Cate needed no further explanation to fully understand their CO's behavior. They both silently promised to at least relieve him of his burden of guilt for not being able to reveal the course the events had really taken.  
  
For a moment, all were silent. Then Dave took a deep breath. "So what did really happen in Berlin in July 2003?"  
  
Bracing himself, Clay briefly closed his eyes and began his tale.  
July 2nd, 2003 1412 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA  
Harm's head jerked up when he heard the knock on his door. A grin spread over his face as he recognized the silhouette of a certain Marine through the half-closed blinds. "Come in!"  
  
Mac's good-morning smile fully mirrored his own. When had they finally gotten this close again, he wondered, hoping that this time things would stay this way.  
  
"Hi Harm, the admiral wants to see us ASAP."  
  
"On my way," he answered good-naturedly, tossed aside his pen and joined her. He started when, leaving his office, he nearly bumped into someone else.  
  
"Oh, sorry, Clay, I didn't see you."  
  
Webb's smile was weary. "Apology accepted. Let's go see your boss."  
  
Harm and Mac exchanged a comical frown. Yet another assignment with Webb? Of all the things they needed...  
  
Together they entered the admiral's office, Harm and Mac coming to attention, Clay staying behind. A look on Chegwidden's face made their smiles fade instantly. The JAG looked worried and stressed. "At ease. Have a seat. Nice of you to join us, Mr. Webb."  
  
AJ sat down behind his desk and took a long look on the fax that lay before him. Harm shifted uneasily in his chair. "Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?"  
  
Looking up, AJ sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid there is. I've just been informed that on June 30th, around 0300 ALPHA, there was a minor explosion at our new embassy in Berlin. Maybe you heard about the difficulties that our government had with the German authorities to make them consent to our safety measures and how much that delayed the actual closing of the last architectonical gap on one of the German capital's most important places. The mayor of Berlin was very upset over the affair."  
  
"Where exactly is the building located, sir?" Mac asked, curious.  
  
"About fifty yards from the Brandenburg Gate."  
  
"Wow, filet piece of ground," Harm remarked with raised eyebrows, not sure yet how the affair might involve JAG.  
  
"Exactly," Chewidden acknowledged. "Now, normally this would fall to the State Department, and it wouldn't be anything to worry about if it were just for the further delay of opening the building. But," he glanced at Webb, "This wasn't an ordinary explosion. Tomorrow, President Bush is going to Berlin, not only to open the embassy on July 4th, but to meet the Israeli prime minister Sharon and the Palestinian president Arafat there, together with the German chancellor Schroeder, in order to start a new attempt at resolving the middle-east conflict."  
  
"Sh..." Mac made under her breath, barely audible, as the implications of the events sank in. Chegwidden apparently hadn't heard her little lapse of protocol, but Harm had and cast her a quick grin, biting his lip. He sobered quickly, though, considering that the government seemed to consider the affair an imminent threat. Why else would the CIA bother to get involved?  
  
"Why JAG, sir?" Mac asked.  
  
AJ looked up. "Yesterday, the Berlin Police arrested a major suspect. His name is Ari Coen and before his retirement he was a gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps and a Gulf War veteran. There's nothing else I can tell you yet, Colonel, this fax is all I have. You will find the names on here of whom to contact with the Berlin Police and with the German Innenministerium, the Department of Internal Affairs that's responsible for German security policy." He stood and handed it to her when she, too, had gotten to her feet. "Coen's all yours, Mac. You're primary investigator, the commander and Lt. Roberts are your cavalry. I called Bud, he'll meet you directly at Dulles. And I hear that Langley insisted on granting Mr. Webb a little vacation, too."  
  
Webb acknowledged with a nod and a wry smile.  
  
"Your flight leaves at 1815. Good luck. Dismissed."  
  
"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm and Mac chorused, exercised a model about-face and left the room, again followed by their CIA shadow.  
  
"Something's really bothering him, but what?" Harm wondered as soon as they were outside the admiral's office.  
  
"No idea," Mac replied, clueless as to why their CO seemed so stressed. He had been out with Meredith yesterday, though, and she'd hinted at something that had vaguely sounded like bungee-jumping...  
  
"I suggest we'd better get going immediately," Webb commented dryly. "Seems the admiral doesn't like being in the dark about this."  
  
"Kemal Ciloglu," Harm read, spying on the fax in Mac's hand. "Who's he?"  
  
"Our police contact," Mac answered, taking a close look at the sheet herself. "He seems to be a rather high-ranking crime investigator, a 'Kriminalhauptkommissar'," she read. Harm marveled at her faculty of pronouncing the word without stumbling over any consonants. Why did he always get the impression that the Germans had taken a fancy to words with five-plus syllables?  
  
"His name doesn't sound German," he remarked, frowning.  
  
"Turkish," Clay cut in with a slight smirk. "Didn't you know that Germany has a Turkish community of over 7 million people? Roughly 150.000 of them live in the capital."  
  
"Sounds interesting," Harm remarked.  
  
Clay smirked. "Then it'll be my great pleasure to invite you to a nice Doener Kebap when we arrive." With that he turned and left the office.  
  
"What kind of Kebap?" Harm cautiously asked Mac.  
  
"Doener Kebap," she answered. "With nicely grilled, juicy mutton. Delicious!" Winking at him, she vanished into her office to retrieve her briefcase.  
  
"I bet..." Harm frowned.  
July 20th, 2033 1912 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada  
"We arrived in Berlin at noon the following day." Webb was blindly staring into the woods as he continued his story in a low voice. "Our contact with the Department of Internal Affairs met us at Tegel, that ridiculous small- town airport that the German capital was still using back then..."  
July 3rd, 2003 1156 ZULU Tegel Airport (TXL) Berlin, Germany  
"Col. Mackenzie?" A clear, friendly voice made Mac turn around when she had just left the gate. A woman about her own age, slim, blonde, blue-eyed and dressed in an elegant light-gray lady's suit, was approaching her.  
  
Returning the open smile the woman was offering her, Mac took a few quick strides in her direction and held out her hand. "That would be me. Nice to meet you, Ms..."  
  
"Rosenbaum," the woman answered, "Esther Rosenbaum. I'm with the German Bundesinnenministerium, the Federal Ministry of Internal Affairs. I work with the department of Internal Security."  
  
Mac turned to introduce her colleagues who had by now joined them. "Ms. Rosenbaum, may I introduce my partner, Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, our colleague Lt. Bud Roberts and Mr. Clayton Webb from the State Department."  
  
"Pleased to meet you." The woman spoke with a slight German accent but her command and pronunciation of English showed that she had apparently spent quite some time in England. "Would you please follow me? I am to take you immediately to meet Gunnery Sgt. Coen. Kommissar Ciloglu is awaiting you there."  
  
She walked over to one of the sliding doors that led to the octagonal driveway surrounding the arrivals/departures area. When all had exited, Esther summoned a black Mercedes limousine that had been waiting close by and bid the American delegation to get in. The chauffeur immediately left the airport for the city highway.  
  
Mac studied the woman who was sitting opposite to her. Esther's face showed an agreeable, open expression but there was something to it that told of a deeper dimension. She had obviously come to know the unpleasant side of life. A vertical furrow on her forehead and a deeply thoughtful glance hinted at the burden the young internal security officer carried on her shoulders.  
  
"Where are we going?" asked Harm while he was taking in a few first impressions of Berlin's urban geography that seemed to be decidedly different from any major American city. The most surprising trait of Berlin's urban character was the green. There were trees everywhere, lining the streets, cuddling together on small piazzas, creating little parks where no one would have expected. Then there was the space. The houses didn't seem to be higher than 20 to 25 yards, seemingly standardized in height in whatever part of the town they crossed. This spacey impression was emphasized by broad streets and alleys.  
  
It was easy to see just how much of the old Berlin must have been destroyed during WWII. Many, many houses dated back only about 30 or 40 years. But there were still entire streets with the grand, liberty-style blocks of the early 20th century, giving glimpses as to what the city must once have looked like, before the almost apocalyptic destruction caused by its own former inhabitants - the Nazis.  
  
"We're driving down to Zehlendorf," Esther explained. "Hearing that the U.S. military would get involved in the investigation, the police transferred Coen to the ex-American headquarters of the Allied Forces that once controlled West-Berlin. There are still quite a few American diplomatic institutions that use the former military infrastructure, although the Allies left Berlin in 1994, after Germany was reunited and granted full sovereignty in 1990. Actually, there are many names of streets and places that remind us Berliners of the Americans, British and French who helped us protect our freedom against the communist regime in East Germany. Right now, for example, we're headed down southwest to Clay-Allee, named after General Lucius D. Clay who, in 1948, organized the allied Air Lift."  
  
Hearing the faint touch of emotion in Esther's voice, the officers expectantly looked at her. Esther's eyes took up a far-away look. "My mother lived in West-Berlin at that time and she often tells me about it. When the Soviets blocked all roads and railroads to the three free sectors of the city, people were incredibly scared. They feared the western Allies would surrender all of Berlin to the communists to get rid of the problem. But instead the western Allies began supplying over two million people in the cut-off city by constantly flying in and out. No one thought it would work - but they lasted nine months until the Soviets gave up and re-opened the roads. The pilots even dropped little packs of sweets for the children. That's why people called the planes 'raisin bombers'."  
  
"I've been fascinated by those events ever since I first heard of them at the Academy," Harm cut in thoughtfully. "Isn't there a memorial somewhere?"  
  
"Yes," Esther confirmed, "In front of the old airport of Tempelhof. We can pass there when we go to the city center later on, if you like."  
  
Bud looked at Mac with an almost pleading expression in his eyes. Mac and Harm tried to suppress their grins. "Could we, ma'am? I'd really like to see it."  
  
"Sure," Mac agreed, "Me, too."  
  
Meanwhile, the limo had pulled up in front of an old complex that was surrounded by high trees. An American flag was fluttering in the summer breeze. The chauffeur got out and opened the back door for the ladies to step out. The three men followed suit.  
  
Holding up a German governmental ID, Esther passed the gate that was guarded by two U.S. Marines. Passing and showing their military IDs, the officers received a salute whereas Webb only leisurely held up his document that identified him as a State Department official.  
  
In the parking lot in front of the entrance to the building, the small group was met by two men. One presented himself as John Cross from the U.S. embassy's security staff. The other, a tall, broad-shouldered man with slightly darker skin, black hair and brown eyes, was greeted by Esther with a genuine smile and a wink.  
  
"Hallo Esther," Mac heard him murmur in her direction, returning the smile. "Na, wie geht's?" [How are things?]  
  
"Wie immer," the German answered very low. "Hier kommt die Verstaerkung." [Same as always. Here are the reinforcements.]  
  
Then she turned back to the Americans. "Ma'am, sirs, may I introduce the head police investigator in this case, Kommissar Kemal Ciloglu. Kem, this is Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie. She leads the JAGman investigation."  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ciloglu." Mac held out her hand with a smile.  
  
Ciloglu shook it with a slight bow. "Colonel..."  
  
"This is my partner, Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, our colleague, Lt. Bud Roberts, and Mr. Clayton Webb from the State Department," Mac introduced her delegation. The Turkish investigator acknowledged with smiles and nods before getting right to the point.  
  
"Colonel, we arrested Gunnery Sgt. Coen two days ago. He turned himself in and basically confirmed all the details that we had already dug up at the crime scene. I could tell you everything Coen told us but maybe you'd rather like to question him yourself?"  
  
Mac nodded. "Thank you, we'd appreciate that. Can we see him?"  
  
"I'll take you to him, ma'am." Cross opened the door and entered the building, motioning for the others to follow him. As Mac was about to enter, she felt something tug at her sleeve and turned to find Clay signaling her to stay back a little.  
  
"What is it?" Mac asked in a low voice, confusion making her brow furrow when he dragged her back a little and switched on a small radio that seemed to emit nothing but static.  
  
Webb turned the static up to full volume and then handed her a small electronic device. "My boss insisted that I bug your purse as a matter of national security." Keeping his voice very low, he gave her a wink and a smile. "I thought I might as well tell you that we're monitoring the investigation."  
  
"Gee, thanks!" Mac shot back in an exasperated whisper as she let the device slip into a small side compartment of her purse. "You know that's illegal, right?"  
  
"After 9/11, a lot has changed."  
  
"We'll talk about this when we get back, Webb. Now every breath I take will be recorded?"  
  
"Yup." Webb seemed almost embarrassed. Almost. "Try not to talk about your love life."  
  
Mac rolled her eyes, the question 'What love life?' clearly written across her features.  
  
Webb put a soothing hand on her arm. "Hey, I made them agree that they give the tapes to me, once we're back. I promise to keep only what's indispensable for security matters and to personally make sure that there are no copies, okay?"  
  
Heaving a sigh, Mac nodded in defeat. "All right - for now. But if I find out you don't keep your promise... umm... let's just say that not only SEALs break noses when they're upset."  
  
"Got the message," Clay stated dryly, switching the radio off and guiding Mac into the building.  
  
Cross led them to a part of the house that must once have been a detention facility. He showed Harm and Mac into the interrogation room while Ciloglu, Esther, Webb and Bud waited outside, the police officer filling Bud in on what he currently knew.  
July 20th, 2033 2341 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada  
"The CIA monitored a JAGman investigation?" Cate was still trying to determine whether to feel offended or not.  
  
Clay's smile was wistful. "Back in those days, the Agency had undergone a lot of criticism after 9/11 because it had gotten used to relying too much on technical surveillance and had neglected personal contacts. So we tried to seize every opportunity we got to get first-hand information out of people who were in some way connected to terrorism. Just asking the Navy for some interrogation protocol didn't seem enough."  
  
Dave leaned forward, curiously scrutinizing the older man. "Why did you tell her about the bug?"  
  
The ex-agent once again looked out in the woods. "An act of decency?" Turning his head, he questioningly glanced at the officers.  
  
"Sure..." Cate's voice was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Chuckling slightly, Clay raised his hands in defense. "Okay, wrong answer." Sobering, he went on, thoughtfully lowering his voice. "But they were my friends. At least sometimes it seemed as if they were. It just didn't feel right."  
  
Dave thought it might be wise to just move on with the story before the agent got caught up in painful memories once again. Giving Cate a meaningful glance and seeing her acknowledge, he leaned back again. "What did Coen say?"  
  
Webb took a deep breath and slowly let it stream out. "He was Jewish and a veteran of the 1991 Gulf War who had retired from the Corps. Apparently he never got over the fact that the Allies didn't chase Saddam the first time they had the opportunity. Having lost a brother due to Saddam's Scud missile attacks on Israel while 'Desert Storm' was rolling, Coen never forgave President Bush Sr. that he let Saddam continue to rule in Baghdad when the 1991 war was over. When he heard that the Israelis were willing to try and negotiate a new agreement with the Palestinians in 2003 and the U.S. was even about to host the talks at their embassy, he decided that Arabs were Arabs, regardless of which nation they belonged to and that he had to do everything in his power to prevent a peace deal from happening. He had gotten to know an ex Mossad agent with links to an extremist Israeli settlers movement. The police learned that he provided Coen with the means to construct the bomb and smuggled him into the embassy, apparently when a gardening firm accessed the grounds to do a little final work. Coen got in and placed the bomb in the basement. What the police didn't know was how that mysterious ex Mossad agent might be linked to the embassy. Coen couldn't even give us a name."  
  
Cate thoughtfully shook her head. "What I just don't get is how someone managed to do it again, only four days after the first explosion. I mean, even if the bomb caused only minor damage, the security measures must have been immense! How on earth did they get a second chance?"  
  
Webb's brow furrowed and he clenched his fists. "The deed was already done. And once we got a hint that another attack might follow, we had no idea that we had to look for the culprits in the opposite direction. We had no time and no chance to prevent it." Rage was ringing in his voice.  
  
"What do you mean, 'the deed was already done'?" Dave asked, at a loss.  
  
Raw, cynical bitterness tinged Clay's voice when he eventually answered. "As much as they keep fighting each other: give religious extremists from opposed sides a common goal and they'll engage into a deadly effective team strategy. Radical Muslims as well as radical Jews wanted to stop the peace talks. The whole thing was a setup. They used Coen as a diversion only. In helping Coen, the Israeli settlers created the necessary commotion for the Hizbullah Muslim extremists to strike. As we learned later on, the repair teams that came into the embassy after Coen's bomb had exploded, were infiltrated by Hizbullah members. Repairing the damage, they firmly installed the big bomb that was meant to effectively wipe out hundreds of people, four heads of governments, four diplomatic delegations and any attempts whatsoever to reach a solid solution in the Middle-East."  
  
Feeling her stomach knot, Cate pushed herself to ask the decisive question. "So, how come the only ones who were killed were Harm and Mac?"  
  
To their astonishment, the JAGs saw the ex CIA agent smile slightly. "Harmon Rabb could really be one royal pain in the ass. But if there was anyone who could possibly have been able to find out what was really going on, it could have been no one but him, with Mackenzie next to him to help his genial mind think straight. I'm sure if they'd had just a little more time, they would have once again come out unscathed. But even Harm's luck had to run out at some point..."  
  
"How did he find out?" Dave asked in a whisper, too tense to trust his voice.  
  
"Rabb-ish intuition," Webb only stated, getting up and going inside. "I need some more coffee. This is going to be a long day."  
To be continued... 


	3. Chapter Three

'Second Chance' - Part Three Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
July 21st, 2033 0009 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada  
"Thanks." With a grateful smile, Cate accepted the steaming cup that Webb handed her. Dave raised his eyebrow and shot her a glance over the rim of his own cup. Cate only grinned innocently and then again fixed her attention on the old CIA agent.  
  
"So, where was I?" Clay let his gaze wander from one young officer to the other and back, once again marveling at the stunning likeness between them and his late friends.  
  
"What happened after they questioned Coen?" Dave decided to get back to the facts.  
  
Clay smirked slightly at the captain's obvious eagerness to distract him from his partner's beautiful smile. "We had just gotten back to the car and had driven off when Esther Rosenbaum received a phone-call," he went on with his tale, taking a slow sip of coffee. "From what I gathered, she agreed to meet with someone."  
July 3rd, 2003 1512 ZULU Allied Air Lift Memorial Berlin Germany  
Although heavy rush-hour traffic was streaming all around the large plaza, the five people standing at its center, just beneath the impressive sculpture, felt like far away from the every-day routine. Surrounded by flower borders and low bushes, the white stone shone in the afternoon sun. The Air Lift Memorial was designed like the base of a huge arch that barely showed its curve, due to the fact that it was supposed to meet the ground again only about 600 miles away, at the biggest German airport of Frankfurt where, back then, the supply planes had departed from and where the Air Lift Memorial now had its twin to complete the virtual arch. At the top, the stone band was divided in three branches, representing the three western Allies America, Great Britain and France who had kept West Berlin alive through the air. At the base of the monument, a large plaque showed the names of those pilots who, for one reason or the other, had lost their lives during those nine months.  
  
Mac could see that her partner's thoughts were lightyears away. Harm had unconsciously come to stand at attention in front of the carved names and Mac was sure that he was praying not only for those whose lives were lost in this spectacular humanitarian mission, but also for his father. They were united by their fate, although the allied pilots' task had been very different from Harm Sr.'s.  
  
Quietly stepping up to him, Mac straightened herself to pay her respects. As she stood still, her eyes fixed on the stone plate, she eventually felt her partner's eyes on her.  
  
"You've been around pilots for too long, Colonel," Harm remarked softly, a smirk tingeing his voice.  
  
Mac turned her head to meet his glance and slightly smiled back. "Maybe. But I've never missed an opportunity to honor brave men who died doing the right thing."  
  
"Thanks," Harm answered simply, his smile deepening, holding her gaze for what was perhaps a second too long.  
  
Someone cleared his throat and made them turn a little guiltily. The knowing grin in Webb's eyes vanished almost instantly as he got back to business. "There's someone who would like to meet the two of you."  
  
Harm and Mac looked over Webb's shoulder and saw Bud approach with Esther, Ciloglu and another young man.  
  
Esther immediately introduced them. "Colonel, Commander, this is my brother Chaim. He works for the Israeli embassy. Chaim, meet Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie and Cmdr. Harmon Rabb."  
  
"Colonel, Commander..." Chaim Rosenbaum exercised a slight bow and smiled at the officers.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Rosenbaum," Mac returned the friendly greeting, wondering slightly why the young man had come to meet them.  
  
"Uh, Mac," Clay spoke up, motioning for all to move a little closer. "Mr. Rosenbaum is with the Mossad. We seem to have a little security problem."  
  
'Oh, please...' Mac thought, exasperated. Why couldn't they just once be assigned a mission that didn't threaten to go haywire? "What kind of problem?" she cautiously asked, trying to ignore the acute sensation of Harm's body brushing her back as he leaned in to catch what was being said.  
  
Chaim Rosenbaum sighed. "During the last few days we have been monitoring a few student groups that announced they'd protest against Israeli politics concerning the Palestinians while Prime Minister Sharon would be here. Our colleagues from the Bundesnachrichtendienst, the German Federal Intelligence Service, happened to intercept a message several times that seems to be circling around between the various groups. We think it's encrypted but the BND doesn't, they take it to be meant literally."  
  
"What does it say?" Harm asked.  
  
"It's not always exactly the same," Chaim replied, "But there's always something in it that sounds like 'Prepare for the writing to be up on the wall.' Or something of the kind."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bud's frown was impressive.  
  
Webb glared back, slightly unnerved. "If we knew that, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, Lieutenant."  
  
"Ah... no, sir."  
  
Mac was staring into nowhere, obviously in deep thought. "If German Intelligence thinks it should be taken literally, then what do they suppose the students are planning?" she said, more to herself.  
  
"You know that German-American relations have been rather strained of late," Esther explained carefully. "Because of the German refusal to support the war in Iraq. All of Europe was very much surprised that President Bush actually invited Chancellor Schroeder to the peace talks, but apparently the good connections Germany has with Israel as well as with the Palestinians outweighed the strained friendship."  
  
Harm fixed his gaze on the German woman. "What would that have to do with some student groups exchanging messages?"  
  
"Many Germans still have a profound grudge against President Bush because of the war," Esther went on, "Especially university students who tend to be rather left-wing in their political views. There are rumors that the students' parliaments of all three Berlin universities, together with the two local universities of applied sciences and the city's four art universities are planning on organizing a concerted action of writing anti- Bush graffiti on every wall imaginable that might appear in the news coverage about his visit here."  
  
Mac's eyes met Harm's and both officers quickly stifled their grins. Harm cleared his throat. "Uhm... well, that... wouldn't be too nice for the President but we wouldn't really need to worry about it too much, either." He sobered, looking at Chaim. "If the Israelis assume the message is encrypted, then what do you think it means?"  
  
Chaim shrugged a little helplessly. "That's just our problem, Commander. We have no concrete ideas. I mean, there are countless possibilities how Prime Minister Sharon could be in danger - he is wherever he goes - and we think we have all the obvious threats covered. But what we're lacking is a precise hint as to what the message might be pointing at."  
  
"The Berlin police has yet another idea," Ciloglu joined in the conversation, his expression a little worried. "In the last few years, we've encountered Muslim extremist ideas more often than we'd like to admit within the German Turkish community. Groups such as Milligoerues, for example, might plan on attacking the Israeli or the American delegations in some way. Two weeks ago, we found large quantities of anti-American and anti-Jewish propaganda, together with an impressive arsenal of weapons in an inconspicuous apartment. The group we linked the findings to has been known to organize some of their actions by leaving graffiti on the walls of houses."  
  
Webb swore under his breath. "So what exactly have we got to start from?" He let his glance wander from one person to the next, meeting nothing but worry in their eyes.  
  
"Definitely not enough to ensure the safety of tomorrow's events," Mac eventually broke the silence, sounding slightly disillusioned.  
  
"Oh, man..." Harm sighed very low, distractedly rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
For a few seconds, no one spoke. Then Ciloglu, with a slight smile, tried to ease the tension. "I'd have a suggestion about how we could spend the evening."  
  
"I'm all ears, Officer," Mac replied, relieved to have something else to focus on for a change.  
  
Ciloglu's smile broadened. "I often find that when I'm stuck in an investigation and can't seem to find a way out, I need to do something entirely different to let all the information sink in. Normally, a few hours later, the solution kind of presents itself to me."  
  
"It's just that we don't have that much time," Webb mumbled gruffly.  
  
Harm flashed him a grin. "Any better ideas, Mr. Webb?"  
  
"I hate to admit it, but no." The corners of Webb's mouth threatened to twitch. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, Mr. Ciloglu, what do you propose?"  
  
"Esther and I normally go dancing on Wednesday evenings, Argentinian tango under the stars, on the courtyard in front of the 19th century Pergamon Museum." Ciloglu's right eyebrow was up high and he was glancing at Harm and Mac in a friendly challenging manner.  
  
Mac exchanged a smile with a slightly embarrassed Esther and her expression lit up as she decided to accept the challenge. She turned her head to her partner. "Hey, sailor, you in for a little South American getaway?"  
  
His grin fully matching hers, Harm folded his arms in front of his chest. "Sure," was all he said smugly, hoping Mac couldn't see how much the prospect of a sensual moonlit dance with her was beginning to cloud his mind.  
  
"Uhm, sir..." Bud's voice was a little uneasy. "What about us?" He cast a quick glance sideways to where Clay was standing and trying to hide his grin.  
  
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the CIA agent spoke up. "Watching people is just as much fun as joining in actively."  
  
Still doubtful, Bud watched as Webb subtly glanced in Harm and Mac's direction. And suddenly Roberts' own grin threatened to break through as he saw how oblivious his seniors suddenly seemed to be to their surroundings. "I guess, you're right," Bud only stated in a low voice. Chaim bit his lip, whereas Esther and Ciloglu exchanged a smirk of mutual understanding.  
  
"Uhm..." Ciloglu raised his voice considerably in order to wake the colonel and the commander from their apparent state of haze. Both their heads immediately swiveled around to face him. The police officer decided to ignore the slight look of guilt on their expressions. "I suggest we meet in front of the Cathedral at eight o'clock. Would that be okay?"  
  
"Uh... yeah, sure," Harm agreed, Mac nodding consent.  
  
"Kommst du mit, Chaim?" Esther asked her brother. [You coming with us, Chaim?]  
  
The younger man smiled, his expression suddenly showing a stunning likeness to his sister. "Sicher. Vielleicht kommt Ruth ja auch vorbei." [Sure, maybe Ruth will show up, too.]  
  
"Verstehe," Esther acknowledged with a knowing grin. [I see.]  
July 3rd, 2003 1912 ZULU In front of the Pergamon Museum Berlin Germany  
Bud, Chaim and Clay were sitting on the large steps that led a few yards down to the wide courtyard. About 100 yards from them, the Classicist antique stone pillars of the museum's façade revealed a little about the sensation that was waiting to be discovered within the huge building: the more than 2000 year-old Greek altar of Pergamon that had been discovered by German archeologists in the 19th century. On both sides, the plaza was flanked by Classicist buildings as well, standing about 50 yards distant from each other. Above them, a full moon was lighting the warm summer night and soft Argentinian tango music was filling the air. The atmosphere of this not officially organized get-together was unique.  
  
Bud had counted approximately 40 couples that had gathered for the tango crash-course that regularly preceded the tango nights. He had watched in amazement how Harm and Mac had desperately tried to remember the complex steps of the basic combinations, more than once stumbling over each other's feet, saving themselves from falling by firmly holding on to each other, unable to hold back their laughter. Bud thought he had never seen them this relaxed, easy and lighthearted with each other, and for once he had to concede that maybe Harriet had been right after all: those two were perfect together.  
  
When the actual dancing had begun, the makeshift dance-floor had crowded considerably but luckily the plaza was wide enough so that Bud could still observe his colleagues and Esther and Ciloglu, too, who had by now joined them.  
  
"Your colleagues seem to have a little problem," Chaim remarked with a smile, addressing no one in particular.  
  
"What problem?" Clay asked innocently, knowing exactly what Chaim was referring to.  
  
"I think it's called 'chain of command'," Chaim replied, still grinning.  
  
"They're coping," was all Clay replied in a clear this-is-not-to-be- discussed tone. "What about your sister and Ciloglu?" he decided to start the counter-attack, watching how perfectly the police officer and the government official were weaving their legs in the weirdest combinations of tango steps, displaying perfect harmony.  
  
To Webb's surprise, Chaim only sighed and wiped his face with his hand. "They're coping," he repeated Clay's words, his voice tinged with just a little compassion.  
  
"Is there a problem, Mr. Rosenbaum?" Bud ventured carefully.  
  
"Alas, there is," the young Mossad agent stated. "My father."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"We are a conservative Jewish family," Chaim explained. "Ciloglu is a Muslim who regularly goes to the mosque. Any questions?"  
  
"But it's obvious they're good friends," Clay observed, watching the couple.  
  
"They are far more than that," Chaim said sadly. "They are a perfect match. Always have been, ever since they got to know each other five years ago when Kemal had to interview Esther during an investigation. These kind of things are complicated."  
  
Bud and Clay exchanged a frown. Didn't they know it.  
  
Meanwhile, Harm and Mac were still battling with their unwilling limbs that wouldn't intertwine in the right way. Harm decided he had never in his life had so much fun - except up in the air, perhaps. The sensuous music of Astor Piazzolla and his Argentinian composers colleagues had gradually managed to make his surroundings fade. At first, the peculiar dancing position required for Argentinian tango had made him a little uneasy. His chest just inches away from Mac's, their heads looking both in the same direction, his cheek actually brushing Mac's ever so slightly as their heads were leaned against each other, his right arm going all around Mac's body, drawing her close... The moonlight, the warm summer breeze, the melancholy bandoneon tunes, Mac's perfume, her warmth, their closeness and synchronized movements whenever the steps weren't too hard to remember - Harm felt he could go on dancing like this forever.  
  
But then there were those lunatic figure combinations. Every so often, Mac would stumble over his feet when he hadn't been quick enough to pull them away and Harm would find he had the perfect excuse to enclose her in his arms, just to keep her from falling. Mac was laughing softly at their failed efforts, her chuckling making him laugh, too, as soon as she fought for her equilibrium yet another time.  
  
Both officers looked up when they heard Esther address them from the side. "You're doing great," she encouraged them with a smile. "But if you feel the steps are too hard, just try moving to the rhythm without thinking about the combinations. First of all you have to feel the dance."  
  
"You think that would work?" Harm asked, not sure if he wanted to lose his opportunity to catch his partner in his embrace whenever they stumbled.  
  
Ciloglu winked at him. "Believe me, Commander, it does. Trust me and try it out." And the couple was gone again, exercising a swift combination of steps that carried them to the other side of the plaza.  
  
"What do you say?" Harm looked at Mac, all but losing himself in her huge dark eyes. The music had stopped for a few seconds until a new piece was heard, a Piazzolla evergreen that Harm knew was called 'Adiós Nonino'. It had been one of his favorites ever since he had tried playing tango on his guitar.  
  
"Let's give it a try," Mac answered, resuming her correct dancing position and closing her eyes, giving him the lead.  
  
Harm limited their movements to simple slow steps that fitted the rhythm, no twists, no turns, no separations. And suddenly they were beginning to float, the melody carrying them away. He felt they were breathing together, ignoring everything that was outside their joined dance space, and his heart rate accelerated as he became aware that this was all he ever needed. He and Mac, functioning in absolute synchrony.  
  
Suddenly he couldn't fight the urge to let out everything that had been building up during the last few years. Where was the need to hold back that had always stopped him from speaking? The fear that things might not work out? Gone. He took a deep breath, never halting their movements.  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"Yeah?" She didn't open her eyes.  
  
"I..."  
  
As she heard him hesitate, she looked up at him. "What?" she asked softly.  
  
"This is perfect, isn't it?" He couldn't meet her glance.  
  
"Yeah." Her voice was down to almost a whisper.  
  
"I... uh... I need to tell you something," Harm eventually managed to get out, still not looking at her.  
  
An alarm went off in Mac's head. "Personal?"  
  
"Yeah," he murmured.  
  
"Then don't," she quickly cut in, hurting as she saw his slightly pained expression at her reaction. "We'll talk later, I promise." She decided to relieve him from his uneasiness by pulling him tight for a short moment and resolved to get rid of the bug in her purse as soon as they got back to the hotel. Then she looked up and suddenly stopped dancing. "Harm, I think something's going on there," she said with a frown, looking at their colleagues.  
  
A little reluctantly they let go of each other and hurried over to the broad stairs where Chaim was right then switching his cell-phone off, confused.  
  
"What's up?" Mac asked, panting slightly.  
  
"I just received a call from my boss," Chaim told them, concern written across his face in bold letters. "They still don't have a clue what the mysterious message is about but they just intercepted another one, this time saying 'The writing is up on the wall.' Something is going on and we're running in circles trying to figure out what it is."  
  
"Is there anything we can do about the situation right now?" Harm asked, mentally turning the words over and over again. He had an unclear feeling that there was something to the picture that he just didn't see but he had no idea what that might be.  
  
Chaim sighed. "Not right now, I'm sorry. All we can do is hope for one of Kemal's revelations."  
July 21st, 2033 0517 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin, Yukon Territory Canada  
"So the evening ended just like that?" Dave asked the ex-agent, frowning.  
  
"Concerning the case, yes," Webb confirmed. "We went back to our hotel, still trying to figure out what the message might be about, but also trying to get our minds off things to loosen any mental knots. At least for Harm and Mac, it seemed to work," he added with a wistful smile.  
  
"What about them?" Cate's voice rang with barely veiled curiosity. "Did they talk?"  
  
"I don't know," was Webb's surprising answer. "Mac left her purse in her bathroom for the next couple of hours. All I know is that I saw them standing at her door, giving all the evidence needed to charge them with fraternization. That's when I decided I had seen enough. Anybody hungry?" Without waiting for their answer, Webb got up and vanished inside.  
  
Dave, too, got to his feet and leaned against the railing, staring out in the woods.  
  
As the silence began to stretch painfully, Cate joined him and looked up at him from the side. "Penny for your thoughts, jarhead."  
  
He gave her a distracted half-grin. "So they got involved after all..."  
  
"You sound surprised."  
  
Dave turned to face her. "I guess I am," he admitted. "It must have taken a lot of courage, after all those years."  
  
"They just gave in to feelings that they knew were there anyway," Cate argued thoughtfully. "At some point, even regulations can't block out the truth."  
  
Dave looked down in his partner's dark eyes and found himself mesmerized. "Maybe you're right, ladysquid," he said softly, unable to keep himself from gently cupping her face with one hand, his thumb caressing her cheek.  
  
For a split second, fear showed in Cate's eyes but she didn't recoil. On the contrary, she slightly leaned into his touch, still scrutinizing his features with those sensual eyes of hers.  
  
When Dave again spoke up, his voice was barely audible. "If Harm felt just half of..." he didn't dare finish his speech. Then he noted that Cate had started to tremble, and his defense broke. He leaned in and brought his lips to hers, softly at first, but when he felt Cate respond to his kiss, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her tightly to him, losing himself in their totally unexpected intimacy that continued to grow in passion, making his world spin.  
  
Eventually Cate broke the contact, eyes closed and gasping. "God, Dave..." was all she whispered.  
  
Then suddenly, the first shot rang out.  
  
"Get down!" Dave cried, throwing himself down and covering her body with his.  
  
"Where did it come from?" Cate whispered, senses on high alert.  
  
"The woods, approximately eleven o'clock, if seen from the door," Dave whispered back.  
  
"Any ideas?"  
  
"No."  
  
Just then the next machine-gun salvo burst into the peaceful arctic evening silence.  
  
They heard Webb swear loudly from just behind the doorframe. Then a tentative hiss: "Raleigh, Mackerras, you alright?"  
  
"Affirmative!" Dave hissed back seeing Clay position himself to fire a few shots from his rifle at their attackers. The agent took a deep breath, whirled around the doorpost, shot and immediately took cover again.  
  
"Clay, do you have any guns for us?" Cate called softly in the direction of the door.  
  
"Just a sec..." The older man vanished and, a minute later, reappeared again, knelt down and shoved two pistols in their direction. The movement was immediately answered by another round of shooting, this time from a slightly different direction.  
  
Dave swore under his breath. "There are more of them out there. And they're probably well-trained."  
  
Cate had analyzed the situation. Their only chance would be to get to both sides of the verandah, thus defending the cabin from three different angles. "Dave?" she whispered.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You go over to the other side, I'll draw back to this end of the porch. So we'll have at least three walls covered."  
  
"Okay." Dave signaled to Clay what they had in mind and the ex-agent had to bite back a grin despite the situation. This was so Rabb and Mackenzie.  
  
With his fingers, Clay counted down from five. On zero, Dave got up and sprinted along the porch, firing shots in what he hoped was the right direction. Cate was firing as well, while she retreated to the far side of the wooden verandah. Heavy MG fire followed them until they reached their positions and again took cover. As he saw Cate signaling 'thumbs up', Dave let out a breath of relief.  
  
Suddenly Cate detected a movement at her nine o'clock, in the bushes not ten yards away from her position. Reacting instinctively, she spun around and fired several shots, until she noticed with horror that she had killed a deer and thereby given away her position. Before she could retreat into safety again, more shooting was heard and all of a sudden, Cate felt an excruciating pain in her right side as one bullet hit her hip and then another one her right shoulder. She dropped her gun, giving a sharp cry, and fell to the floor, tightly gripping her side and trying to stay conscious as the pain made her gasp in agony.  
  
Dave watched the scene play out as if in slow motion. He felt his heart stop as he saw Cate go down. His entire being yelled at him to ignore his surroundings and run to her, but he gritted his teeth, knowing that if he wanted to save her, he had to keep cool. Suddenly, a figure carrying a machine gun emerged from behind a tree at his two o'clock, and with the deadly precision of someone who longed to avenge the death of his love, Dave aimed and pulled the trigger, taking the man out before he even had the time to move any closer.  
  
Instantly, he was fired upon from two sides, but Clay stepped out on the porch and shot one of the attackers whose attention had been entirely focused on Dave. The third man quickly retreated into the bushes, pressing to a tree, but he hadn't counted on the rage of the Marine captain he was aiming at. Signaling Clay to shoot to distract the assaulter and seeing the man immediately change target, Dave quickly and cautiously left the porch and neared the man from behind the bushes.  
  
Just as Clay had apparently run out of ammunition, the man stepped out of his cover and fired yet another salvo at the old man who ducked into safety as quickly as possible. That was when Dave finally managed to fix him with his cross hairs and again pulled the trigger.  
  
The man hadn't even hit the ground yet when the young JAG was already on his way to where his partner was lying. Trying not to flinch as he saw the quickly enlarging bright red stain beneath Cate's body, Dave dropped to his knees, frantically called out to Clay to get the medical case and then gently took her head in his lap, caressing her pale cheeks.  
  
"Cate, stay with me!" he addressed her, his voice threatening to catch in his throat. "Hang in there, SEAL, do you hear me? Damn!"  
  
"Dave... I'm cold..." Her voice was barely audible. With an effort that seemed almost superhuman to her, she opened her eyes.  
  
Although he could see her struggle against the rising numbness, Dave felt relieved. "That's, right, Lieutenant, don't let go. I'm here, hang on," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice. What she really didn't need was hearing the fear that threatened to choke him.  
  
She did, though. The corners of her mouth curled up to the slightest of smiles as she looked up at him. "I thought Marines didn't cry," she whispered.  
  
Dave had to smile despite himself. Quickly wiping away a tear that had escaped his brimming eyes, he noticed that she, too, had tearstains on her cheeks. Dave tenderly dried them off with his thumb, sniffling a little. "We do, but only for very good reasons," he answered softly.  
  
Just then, Clay arrived with the first-aid kit. "How bad?" he only asked.  
  
"Bad," Dave replied, feeling his voice would break if he said anything else. Together, they laid Cate down on her back and examined the gunshot wounds.  
  
"The one on her shoulder went right through," Clay observed in strained voice. "Hold her while I bandage it up." Dave only did as he was told, trying to get a grip.  
  
Seeing the larger wound on Cate's side, Clay again swore heavily. Then he looked up at the badly-shaken captain. "We'll have to extract the bullet," he said.  
  
"Without anesthesia?" Dave's heart skipped yet another beat. The pain would kill her. And she had to stay conscious at all costs!  
  
Webb sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. We're too far away from any hospitals to leave it in the wound until we get there. I can give her a sodium chloride IV to increase her chances of survival until we get to the hospital and then I can give her a little morphine, but that's really all I can do."  
  
Both men's heads turned as they heard Cate speak up. "Do it," she said quietly, reaching for Dave's hand.  
  
Dave swallowed. "Okay." He lay down beside her, encircling her in his arms, both to keep her from moving and to let her feel he was with her.  
  
Once again, Clay had to fight his emotions from getting the upper hand. Cate and Dave, Mac and Harm... the images began to fuse in his mind. Mentally shaking himself from his confusion, he reached out and grabbed a stick that was lying beside the porch and held it out to Cate. "Take it between your teeth," he instructed her. She did.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Hmm hmmm."  
  
A sharp hiss followed as Clay first disinfected the wound. Dave tightened his embrace, feeling Cate cling to his arms with all her might. "Hang on, Cate," he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple, "Hang on. You're a SEAL."  
  
Webb's eyes shone with anxiety as he once again met Cate's glance. "Okay, Raleigh, this is going to be rough."  
  
"Huh huh," she acknowledged, gathering all her willpower for what would follow.  
  
"One, two, three..."  
  
"Arrrghh!" Cate's scream was only barely muffled by the stick in her mouth. She gritted her teeth with a force previously unknown to her, just to fight the pain that Clay was inflicting on her with his long tweezers. Fresh tears were streaming from her eyes as she desperately held on to her partner, trying to stay awake.  
  
Dave thought he could feel the pain himself. Hearing her cry like this was driving him crazy and he was glad he could hold her in his arms, not only for her sake, but also for his own.  
  
"Just a little longer, Cate, we're almost done," Clay tried to encourage her, his voice not too stable, either.  
  
Cate's cries had reduced to strained moans but she was holding her own, fervently praying to God to let her pull through and thanking him for Dave's presence.  
  
Finally, with a last twitch that made her scream once again, the projectile gave way. Clay thrust it aside, instantly covered the wound with clean gauze and pressed firmly until Cate's gasps had calmed a little and he felt he could ask Dave to let go of her and apply a bandage to her waist. While the captain executed his orders, Clay quickly placed the IV needle and then had Cate lean back against her partner in a half-seated position, Dave holding up the plastic bag with the liquid. As soon as the lieutenant was well-settled, Webb went inside to activate his short-wave radio in order to contact the Mounties.  
  
Dave kept continuously stroking Cate's sweaty forehead. He could feel she was still very much in pain but it was nothing in comparison to what she'd had to endure before. She actually relaxed against his chest, closing her eyes.  
  
"Thanks, Dave," he eventually heard her whisper.  
  
"What for, ladysquid?" he asked with a slight smile that carried traces of his own relief.  
  
"For making me hang on," she answered very low.  
  
Realizing once more how close he'd come to losing her and wanting to keep his emotions in check, Dave tried his escape through a joke. "Well, if you'd have passed out on me, I'd have kicked your six from here to D.C.," he replied softly.  
  
"I know, jarhead," she said, a slight smile gracing her features, "And I wouldn't have let you win."  
  
"I know," he whispered, glad to have her back. "Relax a little, okay?"  
  
"Aye, sir," she murmured, feeling his lips on her temple once again and losing herself in the gentle sensation.  
July 21st, 2033 0722 ZULU Clayton Webb's cabin Yukon Territory Canada  
The RCMP helicopter had found enough open space to land in front of the cabin. While two policemen were loading the three corpses into the helo's belly, a third officer was questioning Clay and Dave and two paramedics were preparing Cate to be transported to a hospital in Whitehorse.  
  
"We're ready," one of the policemen eventually called.  
  
Dave quickly excused himself and rushed out. Just before Cate's stretcher was lifted into the helicopter, Dave caught her hand and made the paramedics stop for a short moment. Dave leaned over her and smiled, taking Cate's hand in both his own. "You take care of yourself, ladysquid," he gently ordered her. "I expect to see you back in D.C. in one piece in ten days, maximum."  
  
"Will do." Cate's smile fully mirrored his. "And you be careful when you take 'Sarah' all the way back, okay? Kick Webb's six and drag him with you."  
  
"Aye, ma'am." Dave leaned down and brushed a quick, shy kiss to her lips, blushing slightly. "See ya, Lieutenant," he whispered, letting go of her hand and snapping off a mock salute. Having scheduled the time for the helo to return and pick up their colleague, Dave turned and joined Webb and the police officer inside the cabin.  
  
"Captain, could you please tell me where you were standing when you heard the first shot?" The RCMP officer had already taken notes of Clay's version of the story, convinced that the two men were telling the truth about the killings being self-defense. Now he needed Dave's account to complete the picture.  
  
"Uh... I was standing at the railing with Lt. Raleigh," Dave answered, asking himself how much he'd have to reveal of how exactly they had been standing together.  
  
"You were here?" The police officer pointed his ballpoint pen to a spot on the sketch he had drawn of the cabin and its surroundings.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And where was the lieutenant?"  
  
'Uh oh.' Dave was beginning to sweat. "Uhm... here." He pointed his index to the exact same spot.  
  
The officer quizzically looked up at him, but when he saw Dave blush he only stifled a grin and looked at his note pad again. "Where did the shot come from?"  
  
During the next half-hour, Dave gave a detailed description about the events. When he was done, the officer addressed Webb again, a slight frown showing on his forehead. "Mr. Webb, you said you could identify your assaulters?"  
  
Dave's head jerked up and in astonishment, he fixed Clay's glance.  
  
Webb nodded, letting out a low sigh. "Noel Burke," he stated, "Former CIA deputy director responsible for counterintelligence in central and eastern Europe. Agent Clive Miller, his faithful right hand and I suppose the third one was Miller's son, Oliver."  
  
The officer wrote down the names and looked up expectantly, but Webb shook his head. "I'm sorry, this is all I can tell you. I was part of that bunch, too." With that, he opened a drawer in the cupboard behind him and took out a ragged-looking, very old CIA ID for the police officer to see.  
  
The officer's frown deepened but he didn't comment. "I'll inform the authorities," was all he said. "I take it you're going back to Washington to report?"  
  
Webb shook his head in a determined manner. "That's the captain's job. I don't want anything to do with those people anymore."  
  
Dave felt this was his cue. "Clay, we need your testimony for the case."  
  
"Sorry, Captain, but you won't get it," he said stubbornly, his old bitterness resurfacing.  
  
'Harm, I won't let you down,' Dave silently swore, getting angry with the old ex-agent. "You told us that people denied Rabb and Mackenzie the honor they deserve. Now set it right!" He glared at him.  
  
The police officer decided he didn't need to hear this and retreated to the porch.  
  
Clay had gotten up, angry himself. "I tried! All those years, no one would listen. They'd threaten my friends, ruin my career, I don't know what else! Burke himself set up Harm and Mac as scapegoats and he knew the right people to make his version the official one. He's been out of the service for quite some time now but the people at Langley are still the same. I can't do this to Harriet and Bud!"  
  
Dave tried to stay calm. "Dammit, Webb, you're the one person who could finally relieve the admiral from the terrible feeling of guilt that's eating him alive. You could give Harm's mother the relief she deserves in her old days by clearing her only son's name. You could finally get back at Burke and his peers and most of all: you could change history without changing its effects. The Treaty of Vienna dates 24 years back, it won't be threatened by the revelations. But at least your friends' - your only friends, as you yourself told us - deaths would finally make sense and set an example to all! People need true heroes, Clay. They need characters like Harmon Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie to look up to and set higher standards. It's in your hands to let that happen."  
  
Entire minutes passed after Dave's animated speech before Webb drew a deep breath and looked at the young JAG, smiling wryly. "You've got to be one damned good lawyer, Mackerras," he said slowly. "Harmon Rabb, Jr., would have argued this case just like you."  
  
"So what do you say?" Dave asked, guarded.  
  
"I'll do it." Sighing heavily, Webb got up. "But first I'll have to make a phone call. Although he'll probably kill me for calling in the middle of the night..."  
  
Puzzled, Dave remained silent and watched as Clay pulled out an old sat phone from the same cupboard he had gotten his Langley ID from.  
  
"I hope this still works..." the agent mumbled. Then after about two minutes of trying and waiting, Dave could hear that someone had picked up.  
  
"Bud? This is Clayton Webb..."  
August 1st, 2033 2108 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA  
The strained silence in the big mahogany-furnished room was palpable. The people present didn't dare speak, not even a whisper was heard. From time to time, someone would shuffle his foot or clear his throat but apart from that, all was quiet. Outside the office door, the bullpen lay deserted. Bud had sent his staff away a little earlier than he usually did on a Friday afternoon.  
  
The admiral was sitting behind his desk, seemingly studying a file, but Cate had noted that he hadn't turned a page for at least five minutes. She and Dave were standing in a corner a little ways away from their CO, observing the others. Besides them, Patricia Burnett and Sergei Zhukov were sitting on the small leather couch that matched the armchairs in front of Bud's desk.  
  
In one of those armchairs, Clayton Webb was sitting and slowly taking in his surroundings, apparently comparing what he saw to how things had looked 30 years ago. The officer next to him had been presented to them as retired Admiral Sturgis Turner, former JAG. Next to Turner, Secnav Hamilton was impatiently twirling a ballpoint pen in his hands.  
  
Eventually, a knock on the door made everyone take a deep breath of relief.  
  
Bud looked up, slightly pale but composed. "Enter."  
  
The door opened to reveal four people. The admiral's expression relaxed instantly as he got up to greet his wife. "How was your flight?" he asked Harriet in a low voice.  
  
"Okay," she answered with a slight smile.  
  
"Did Dunston pick you up where I told him to?"  
  
"Worked perfectly," she confirmed. "And luckily neither mine nor the Ciloglus' flight was delayed." With that she turned to the elderly couple that had, a little shyly, entered the room behind her.  
  
Bud's smile grew. "Mrs. Ciloglu, Mr. Ciloglu, it's been too long," he said warmly, shaking Kemal and Esther's hands. Clay had risen and joined in the greetings. Then Bud introduced them to the Secnav and to Sturgis and to Trish and Sergei. Finally, he motioned for Cate and Dave to move closer.  
  
An expression of utmost surprise crossed Esther's face the moment she saw the two young officers approach, but she quickly regained her composure and only exchanged a slight smile with her husband before turning to the officers again. "I take it you two are the cause of this late reunion, Lieutenant, Captain?" she asked with a slight smile.  
  
"That is correct, ma'am," Dave answered a little stiffly, feeling thoroughly intimidated. "Captain David Mackerras, ma'am, and this is my partner, Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh."  
  
"Nice to finally meet you two in person," Esther answered. "Ever since we received this utterly unexpected invitation, my husband and I have been wondering if we'd really understood right what Admiral Roberts wrote."  
  
"Uh... you did, ma'am," Cate replied, just as embarrassed as her partner.  
  
"As we can now see with our own eyes," Ciloglu remarked, his smile audible.  
  
"Uhm, can we come in now?" a voice was heard from outside.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Dunston, come on in," Bud called back.  
  
A moment later, the door was opened wide and a man with a TV camera and a sound technician entered the room, followed by a man in his late twenties who wore a stylish gray summer suit.  
  
The young man came to a halt in front of Bud and held out his hand with an open smile. "Admiral Roberts? Jeff Dunston. We talked on the phone. My father has told me a lot about you. He regrets that he can't film this himself but his health prevents it. So you're stuck with me."  
  
Bud took the offered hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. "God knows, we had our differences with Stuart Dunston, but I'm glad that ZNN didn't send someone totally unfamiliar to this office to report what we have to say. Nice to meet you."  
  
"Thank you, Admiral," Dunston replied. "So, is this official or not?"  
  
Bud opened a drawer and pulled out a document which he handed to the curious reporter. "It is. We're on the safe side. The board of inquiry declassified the affair, thanks to Capt. Mackerras. We were informed of the decision yesterday."  
  
Dunston's eyebrows went up. "The CIA really agreed to this? Wow..." he murmured as he studied the paper in his hands. Then he looked at Dave with a mildly inquisitive expression. "I thought Burke was one of them and still had many friends in the Agency. Mr. Webb told me that much when I first interviewed him."  
  
Dave just embarrassedly smiled back. Bud sighed, but then offered a small grin. "Yes, he had, and we had a hard time arguing our case. But Lt. Raleigh's thrilling performance on the stand, combined with her injuries, managed to convince the board that officially uncovering Director Burke's doings might do less harm than having Director Webb go to the media instead, seconded by the Navy's Judge Advocate General and his two heroic subordinates."  
  
Grinning, Dunston nodded. "I see..." He sobered. "And you're ready to step forward and tell your story, Admiral?"  
  
Glancing briefly at Harriet who only nodded encouragingly, Bud drew a deep breath and then nodded in a determined manner. "I am. I should have done it long ago."  
  
The cameraman had in the meantime pulled two armchairs to a spot where the late afternoon sun lit the room. Dunston turned to Webb and made an inviting gesture. "So, I suggest, we start with you, Mr. Webb. We already taped your testimony, but there are a few questions I'd still like to ask you."  
  
Webb got up, smiled slightly, settled down in the offered armchair and expectantly looked at the young reporter opposite to him. "Go ahead, Mr. Dunston."  
  
Sound recording and camera were operational. Dunston gave a sign and then plunged right into the matter. "Mr. Webb, you stated that you recognized your assaulters."  
  
Webb nodded.  
  
"Who were they?"  
  
"They were former colleagues of mine, back when I was still working for the Agency. Retired Deputy Director Noel Burke was responsible for counterintelligence in central and eastern Europe. As the attack took place in Berlin, it was he who was called to work out an emergency cover-up story for the Hizbullah bombing so the peace talks could take place as scheduled. He first contacted me around 1100, about two and a half hours after the explosion."  
  
"What did you tell him?" Dunston tried to keep his voice neutral, concentrating on the facts.  
  
Webb swallowed, lost in thought. "Just one thing: to leave Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb out of it. At that point, we had no idea how they had ended up in the bunker where the bomb exploded. Knowing Burke as a man who was cruelly efficient, no matter how high the cost, I feared he would use their deaths to his advantage. And I was right." He sighed.  
  
"Why do you think Burke tried to kill you now, 30 years after the Berlin bombing?"  
  
"To avoid punishment for giving false testimony in an affair of national security and to protect a few friends of his who continued to maintain the story of Rabb and Mackenzie's involvement in the bombing. He had to prevent us from disclosing the truth, like he successfully did for so many years, as long as we kept digging up witnesses and tried to have the affair legally declassified. The consequences for him could really have been devastating."  
  
Dunston straightened in his chair. "So, Mr. Webb, although you already have, would you tell us again what exactly happened in the early morning hours of July 4th, 2003 in the German capital?"  
  
Seeing Webb brace himself, Dave unconsciously reached for Cate's hand and felt his squeeze returned in a gentle, caring way. Today, on his 30th birthday, he would witness a major wrong set right, and he knew that he and the woman whose hand he was holding, the friend who had grown so dear to him, had brought this about. And the knowledge of having accomplished so much made him want to cry.  
  
Clay looked down at his hands, then lifted his gaze to Dunston's and, after what seemed like an eternity, began to speak. "If you're wondering how I got to know what I'm telling you now - it's simple. It was on the tape that recorded all that the bug in Col. Mackenzie's purse picked up. So I'll start with that and then go on with what I myself remember of that day. Sometime after 0700 in the morning, Col. Mackenzie apparently fetched her purse from the bathroom..."  
July 4th, 2003 0653 ZULU Grand-Hotel "Maritime" Friedrichstrasse Berlin, Germany  
"Okay, flyboy, here you are."  
  
Mac pulled a pack of Aspirin from her purse and handed Harm a glass of water with it. With a silent movement she reminded him that their every sound was being monitored. Harm grinned and blew her a kiss. He quickly swallowed the medicine and then, trying not to rustle the sheets too much, lay back on his pillow, pulling Mac down with him so that she was resting on his chest.  
  
For a while, they lay in silence, exchanging a few smiles, knowing they couldn't put in words what was on their minds, but not feeling the need to, either. The last few hours had told them more about each other than they'd ever dreamed of knowing. And what they had learned had eventually led them to believe that this new blossoming relationship might work out after all, contrary to what they had always feared would happen. Right this instant, on this tiny spot on Earth, for two out of over six billion human beings, life was perfect.  
  
Harm let his thoughts wander wherever they would take him while his fingertips were softly drawing patterns on Mac's satin skin. "I wonder if Ciloglu had any more luck finding a solution to this riddle than we had," he said in a low voice.  
  
Mac sighed. "I doubt it. Or Clay would surely have called us. Esther told me that the delegations meet at 0830 for some kind of a business breakfast, to test the waters. Assuming the worst, that would leave us exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes to solve the case. I don't know - but I just can't come up with anything that really fits the scenario. Going over to the embassy now and searching for something that you don't have the slightest idea about doesn't make sense. It's just..." she inhaled deeply. "I feel so helpless about this."  
  
"You know, Mac," Harm said in a thoughtful voice, "What really worries me is that even the Mossad is lost about this message-thing."  
  
"Yeah..." Mac agreed, contemplating the words Chaim had spoken of. "'The writing is up on the wall' - that could mean anything."  
  
A little distractedly, Harm twirled a strand of Mac's hair around his left index finger. "If I were King Belshazzar, I'd probably call for Daniel now... oh, my God..." Harm froze, then gently made Mac lie down beside him, jumped to his feet and began rummaging through all cupboards and drawers. The expression on his face made Mac suck in her breath.  
  
"Harm? What the..."  
  
"There's got to be one... somewhere... I know it..." Harm kept mumbling under his breath.  
  
"Harm! What's going on? What are you looking for?"  
  
Meanwhile, Harm had found what he had been searching. He grabbed it and sat down again on the bed, holding - a Bible. Mac stared at him, open-mouthed.  
  
"Ciloglu was right, Mac," Harm said, seemingly unsure himself what to think of his sudden idea. "The revelation hits you when you least expect it. I mean, all along that message kept stirring up something in my brain but I just didn't get it. It was too obvious. Mac: the message is meant literally. The prophet Daniel!"  
  
Whacking her brain, Mac managed to bring forth crumbs of her religious education from elementary school. "Wasn't that the story of that Babylonian king who saw that line on the wall and couldn't make out what it meant?"  
  
"Exactly," Harm confirmed. "I don't remember exactly what it said but for some strange reason I remember where to find it." With that, he quickly thumbed through the book of Daniel until he got to chapter five. "Here it is: 'Mene tekel u-parsin.' 'Mene' means 'God has numbered the days of your reign and brought it to an end.' 'Tekel' means 'You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.' and 'Peres' means 'Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and the Persians.'"  
  
"Ooo..kaaay...," Mac acknowledged with a drawl, doubt ringing in her voice, "But what do you get from that, Harm?"  
  
Harm tried to gather his thoughts. "The third line doesn't tell me anything right now, so I'll leave it out for the present. But the first line... what if whoever keeps alluding to this is thinking of the 'reigns' of Sharon or Arafat or even Bush? That would mean the message hasn't got anything to do with harmless graffiti. Someone is trying to kill a head of state because he thinks that his 'target' didn't fulfill God's will."  
  
Seeing that Mac was about to object to his speculation, Harm quickly held up his hand. "Let's just stick with this theory for a moment, okay?" Mac nodded.  
  
"The 'scales'..." Harm went on thinking aloud, looking at Mac to be able to focus on something. "Maybe the person or group who sent the message first wanted to wait until they got a glimpse of what their leader would be offering to the other side during the peace talks. They had a look at the matter and 'found' their leader 'wanting'. So they sent the message to act on their plan of killing him. First, they told their contacts to 'Wait for the writing to appear on the wall.' That was supposed to mean: 'Hold it, we're still checking the situation.'  
  
"Then, at a certain point, the decision is made. 'The writing is up.' That would mean: 'What our leader wants to negotiate for us isn't enough, we can't go through with this, let's do away with him.' It's a signal to set the timer to a bomb or whatever. So, regardless of which side is aiming at their president, the decision to do whatever harm to him has to come from within his own delegation. No one else would have been able to take a look at the guidelines for the negotiations. Mac," Harm got up and reached for his cell-phone, "We have a first-class security problem here and we'll have to get inside the embassy right now to somehow try and solve it. Let's call Webb."  
  
"Slow down, Harm," Mac tried to reason with her partner. "Don't you think this is a highly speculative scenario, if not an outright ridiculous one? A message from the Bible? Come on, squid, we know we're dealing with religious extremists, and the story you mentioned is part of the Tora as well as the Koran, but isn't that just too much of a cliché? And even if it should be true - don't you think, if not the CIA or the BND, at least the Mossad would have come up with it by now?"  
  
Harm looked at her, calmly, earnestly and yet with an urgency that took her breath away. "Maybe they would, maybe not. I know this sounds crazy, Mac, but do we have any other leads? If I'm right, time is running short big- time, and we can't risk finding out afterwards that we could have done something but didn't do it because we relied on the others to find out or didn't trust our own intuition."  
  
Mac sighed, giving him a defeated nod. "Call him."  
August 1st, 2033 2242 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA  
If this was even possible, the room had gotten quieter still, once Webb had ended his tale. Cate had unconsciously stepped a little closer to her partner, feeling the rising tension was too hard to endure. So close to the truth, finally... Looking at her CO, she could see that he was tightly pressing his lips together, trying not to let his tension get the better of him.  
  
Dunston had to draw a steadying breath himself. He had expected a lot of things that could have happened, judging from what his father had told him about this extraordinary bunch of people. But this seemed to point to a solution he definitely hadn't counted on. Anyway, he was a professional so it would be up to him to save the situation. He cleared his throat. "So... Cmdr. Rabb called you, Mr. Webb?"  
  
"No," came a voice from the far side of the room, making everyone turn their heads in surprise. Kemal Ciloglu had risen from his seat and stepped up to where Webb was sitting. "I did."  
  
Webb instantly rose from his seat and Ciloglu sat down on the makeshift stage. Dunston motioned for his cameraman to go on filming. "You called Mr. Webb that morning, Mr. Ciloglu? Why?"  
  
Ciloglu stared out of the window, trying to recollect as many details as possible. Then he turned back to Dunston. "Maybe Cmdr. Rabb did really try to reach Director Webb at that time but I seem to have been a little quicker. I had just received a call from Berlin police headquarters. Another transmission had been picked up, this time clearly pointing to the senders as well as to whom it had been intended for. The student group that sent the earlier messages had finally been identified, thanks to the fact that the last message was just a little too long to avoid being traced back. The group turned out to be an Islamic student organization, uniting Muslim students of different nationalities. Most of them were Turkish, but there were a few Lebanese, Palestinian, Iranian and Arabic members as well. They were united by their extremist views and their profound hatred of both Jewish and Christian societies."  
  
"And whom did they try to contact?" Dunston was on the edge of his seat, desperately trying to appear calm, at least in front of the camera's eye.  
  
Ciloglu smiled. "This time, they were on the receiving end. No, the message came from someone else. My wife's brother Chaim was able to identify the voice: it was a member of the Israeli delegation."  
  
Webb pulled up a chair at Ciloglu's side. "From what I learned afterwards from numerous witnesses, the agreement between the enemies had been that the Jewish extremists provided the possibility to place the bomb - that was where Ari Coen had his part in the game with his personal crusade - , then the Hizbullah was to manufacture and install the explosive device. For having opened the embassy to the Islamists, the Jewish settlers reserved the right to have the last word in the decision if and when to blow it up.  
  
"There were hostile elements in the Palestinian delegation as well. While the Palestinians were still reviewing what Arafat intended to offer the Israelis, the terrorists among them somehow stayed in touch with the Muslim student group. The group told their Jewish contacts that the Muslim side still hadn't decided if to go through with the plan or not. This is why they used the phrase 'Wait for the writing to be up.' Once the Palestinian side of the odd alliance gave a 'no go' for the negotiations, they forwarded their half of the code that would set the timer to the Israelis, telling them they had decided their leader's fate. In other words: 'The writing is up.'"  
  
Webb paused, apparently wanting to make sure that the complexity of the plot had registered correctly in everyone's brain. Dunston immediately spoke up, wanting to keep the interruption of the tale as brief as possible. "So the latest message was the Jewish answer that they would go through with the plan?"  
  
Webb nodded. "But the decision had taken them more time than they had obviously counted on. The settlers had no time left to think about a safe way to let the terrorists within the Palestinian delegation know the exact schedule for the attack. That is why they passed it on in the message, thus making the transmission too long and enabling us to trace it back to them."  
  
"So you knew beforehand what was going to happen?" Dunston asked, aghast.  
  
Webb felt everyone's gaze on him and swallowed heavily. "No, we didn't. They talked in code again. So I met with Inspector Ciloglu at police headquarters in order to try and decipher the schedule. I had no idea that right then, Rabb and Mackenzie were already desperately trying to disarm the very bomb we were still discussing in theory."  
To be continued... 


	4. Chapter Four Conclusion

'Second Chance' - Conclusion Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
  
WARNING: This chapter will be dealing with character death!  
  
A little helplessly, Dunston looked at Webb. "Then you don't know what happened at the embassy?"  
  
Webb openly looked back at him. "Oh, I do know what happened. But I think the story should be told by someone who was there." Concern showing on his face, he slowly turned around. "Admiral?"  
  
Bud squared his shoulders and resolutely stood. Nothing but a slight pallor told of his true state of mind. "I agree."  
  
Ciloglu stood up and offered his seat to the JAG. Bud exchanged a strained but heartfelt smile with his wife and settled down in front of the camera. It was time for him to finally do his duty and live up to his beliefs.  
  
Dunston sensed that this was the crucial point of the story. Giving the older man in front of him a sincere smile, he leaned slightly forward. "Admiral Roberts, you witnessed the explosion?"  
  
Bud nodded. "Yes, I did."  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
"In the embassy's security center, observing the video screens."  
  
"And where were Cmdr. Rabb and Col. Mackenzie?" Dunston's voice had lowered a little, dreading what was coming.  
  
Outwardly, the admiral maintained his unperturbed state of mind, but his eyes clearly conveyed the fear he was feeling at the prospect of having to relive what he had tried to block out of his memory for so many years. "When Commander Rabb hadn't been able to reach Director Webb, he woke me up and we immediately rushed over to the embassy. The guards knew us as the officers investigating Coen, so they let us pass. Rabb and Mackenzie didn't want to cause any panic as they didn't have any concrete proof to underline the commander's unbelievable theory yet.  
  
"So they conducted the search by themselves with the help of the embassy's security, ordering me to go to the video observation room and review the night's tapes. I could see them searching the building. The colonel and the commander were inspecting the embassy's basement. After about twenty minutes they suddenly appeared on the screen showing the secluded bunker. God, I can't do this..." Bud's speech had reduced to a pained whisper and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut, taking several deep breaths.  
  
Jeff Dunston signaled to his cameraman to stop filming. The sound technician switched off his recorder. Then the reporter gently placed a hand on Roberts' arm. "Take your time, sir. We are in no hurry here."  
  
Drawing a shaky breath, Bud offered a brief smile. "Thank you, but I'll be okay."  
  
July 4th, 2003 0713 ZULU American Embassy Berlin, Germany  
  
Coming out of the conference room, Harm leaned back against the corridor's wall, closing his eyes and exhaling in defeat. He heard the embassy's security officers pass him, murmuring words of barely veiled contempt but nevertheless executing his orders - that were not more than recommendations, to be exact - to spread and once again search the building, turning over every last pebble.  
  
He felt Mac step up to him and opened his eyes, glancing at her with a wry smile.  
  
Sighing, she placed a soothing hand on his arm, her gaze full of compassion. "I told you they wouldn't believe you."  
  
Harm drew a quick breath and pushed himself away from the wall. "Kind of reassuring to know that my reputation was already ruined before. At least it won't be damaged any further."  
  
After having sent Bud to review the tapes, they had security search the conference room, given the fact that the delegations were already taking a first cup of coffee in the embassy's backyard, waiting to gather in said room. This would have been the most obvious spot to place a bomb if someone wanted to make sure that all the intended victims would be taken out for good. And of course, it had been searched countless times already.  
  
In less than ten minutes, the four presidential limousines were due to arrive. Mac gave Harm's arm a friendly nudge. "Come on, flyboy, the basement's waiting."  
  
"Aye, ma'am," he said with a low sigh and he and Mac descended to the area of the building that they had assigned to themselves for the search.  
  
Compared to the nobility of style that the building showed all over, the basement seemed not just humble but outright neglected. The walls were bare concrete, the long corridors only dimly lit. There were few rooms down there, all closed with heavy fire-proof doors. As they slowly worked their way from one to the next, never discovering even a hint of a trace, Harm felt like screaming in utter frustration. His gut kept telling him that something was up - but neither he and Mac, nor Bud, nor anyone else involved in the search seemed to have encountered any evidence whatsoever.  
  
Approaching the end of the main corridor, having passed the boiler room, several supply storage rooms, a room with spare furniture, the laundry-room and a few other things that Harm would have expected in a hotel but not really in a building designed for diplomatic representation, he turned to open the last door before they would get to the secluded bunker, the 'Panic Room', as Mac had immediately called it because it fatally resembled the ultra-security installments in the Jodie Foster movie.  
  
"Okay," Mac wiped her forehead in exasperation. "What's next?"  
  
Harm looked at the plan of the embassy that he had obtained from the security chief. "This has got to be that strange air-exchange thing that Cross mentioned earlier." He frowned, mentally shaking his head at this particular feature the building offered. Germany had severe laws for environmental protection. Taxes on fuel and energy were ludicrously high, so every architect included plans for energy-savings for any building, even if he wasn't asked to do so. And once the plans existed they were normally carried out.  
  
The air exchange was a support function for the central heating. Once the building's air conditioner was working, the warm exhaust wouldn't be blown out but reinserted into a second air circulation that was running within the walls. If needed it could be used as support for the normal heating in the rooms. Every room had a ventilation flap that could be opened for the warm air to stream in. In case of a fire in the building, the ordinary air conditioner would be automatically shut down. But the secondary unit's ventilation flaps in all the rooms could be opened from the security center, providing a means of ridding the rooms of smoke without creating dangerous air currents.  
  
On the first floor, the system had been slightly damaged by Coen's attack, but repair crews had set it in order two days ago. So now the extra ventilation was peacefully humming along, providing the only sound that was currently disturbing the grave silence that dominated the whole basement.  
  
Harm took a careful look around the room, then switched off the lights, motioned for Mac to come out of the dark room and was about to close the door again when he heard her gasp. "Harm! Wait!"  
  
He jumped, instantly on high alert. "What's up?"  
  
"There's a red light that's moving or flickering or whatever, over there, in the corner behind the door."  
  
Harm immediately turned on the lights again - and the red flashing was gone. He again switched off the lights, and the flashing reappeared, barely noticeable. Rushing over, he identified it as something blinking within one of the exhaust tubes, shining through where the tube had a hairline crack.  
  
He should have called security first but Harm didn't think that far. Applying a lot of force, he managed to squash the thin metal of the tube and insert a screwdriver that he had brought with him from the tool cabinet at the entrance to the basement, in case he needed it. Groaning low, he bended the metal, using the screwdriver as a lever, opening a hole to have a look at the flashing light. What he saw, made his heart stop.  
  
02:24, 02:23, 02:22, 02:21...  
  
"Shit..." he breathed tonelessly.  
  
Mac sucked in her breath and immediately turned on the lights again. Inside the tube, a medium-sized pack of explosives, probably SEMTEX, was connected to a timer.  
  
"This is too small," she murmured, confused. "It would probably cause considerable damage in the basement but..."  
  
"Mac..." Harm's voice was suddenly tinged with raw panic. "Look down the tube."  
  
"Oh my God!" Stumbling backward, she clasped a hand to her mouth. Down in the nearest curve sat a small gas cylinder. On it was printed a skull with crossed bones and underneath, the cylinder read T-2106.  
  
Sarin.  
  
These were people who didn't want to risk having survivors.  
  
"The bomb is far too tightly wrapped to get through to the cables and disarm it in two minutes." Harm's voice was shaking and he was speaking very quickly. "We have to get it out of the ventilation system and have it explode somewhere where it won't damage the gas cylinder. There's only one place..."  
  
Mac's eyes were widened in pain and fear but she nodded. "The bunker. You get the bomb out, I'll call security."  
  
The walkie-talkie emitted strong static as she pressed the speaker button. "Security, this is Colonel Mackenzie! Bomb in the basement, T minus one- thirty!" Although she knew it was impossible to secure the building in time, Mac desperately added: "Evacuate immediately, repeat, evacuate ASAP!!" Her voice was unusually high-pitched.  
  
01:43, 01:42, 01:41...  
  
With the help of the screwdriver, Harm managed to destroy the tube and extract the explosive device. Running for their and everyone else's lives, he and Mac sprinted the last meters to the bunker, deposited the bomb inside, rushed out again and - suddenly stared at one another in a feeling of such tremendous horror they had never thought existed.  
  
The doors could be closed and bolted only from within.  
  
Ignoring the tears that were suddenly blurring his vision, Harm fiercely pulled Mac close and kissed her. "I love you, Sarah!" he choked out. "Run!!"  
  
Mac needed only a split second to come out of her sudden paralysis. "NO WAY!" she cried forcefully. "I love you, too, Harm, and I want you safe! Go! You have a family, I don't! I love you!"  
  
"I won't leave you down here, Mac!" Damn, couldn't she just for once do what he told her to?  
  
01:01, 01:00, 00:59...  
  
Both entered the bunker at the same time, glaring at each other in sheer despair. Suddenly, though, Harm surrendered. They had no time to fight and he knew he wouldn't win anyway.  
  
Drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, steeling him for what would follow, he closed the heavy security door and firmly bolted it. Then, he turned around and looked at his partner. His best friend. His one true love.  
  
The tearstains on her face matched his own, but she was composed and calm as she stepped into his embrace, burying her face in the curve of his neck.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Sarah," she heard him whisper in a nearly suffocated voice. "I wasted so much time..."  
  
"Don't, Harm," she cut in, sobbing softly. "Let's share our last moments without regrets. It just wasn't meant to be."  
  
00:32, 00:31, 00:30...  
  
They held on to each other as firmly as they could, wanting to remember every detail, the feel, the warmth, the perfume, the caresses. Despair was tearing them apart and yet they were in perfect, soothing spiritual union.  
  
"I love you so much..." Harm's voice was very low. "Thank you for letting me experience what it means to really love somebody and be loved in return. Thank you..."  
  
"Thank *you*, Harmon, for giving me a glimpse at the life I've been longing for for such a long time. Although we weren't allowed to have it, I know at least what happiness feels like." Mac lifted her glance to his and once again lost herself in his beautiful eyes, so pained and yet so warm.  
  
00:13, 00:12, 00:11...  
  
Harm leaned in and kissed the woman that meant the world to him for one last time. "Goodbye, Sarah," he whispered. Tenderly, he cupped her face, caressing her tears away with his thumb just the way he had done it so many times in the past years. "Maybe one day, in another life, God will give us a second chance."  
  
Mac's beautiful features lit up in an angelic smile. "I'll be waiting."  
  
Lost in each other's loving glance, they barely noticed as the wave of fire swallowed them, instantly taking them on their ultimate journey.  
  
And as the distant light started to grow brighter, they became aware that finally, they were joined for eternity.  
  
August 1st, 2033 2338 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA  
  
Rear Admiral Bud Jay Roberts, Judge Advocate General of the United States Navy, was sitting in his chair, slumped over, his face in his hands, crying helplessly. Years, decades even of dreadful pressure had suddenly been lifted off his heart. Unimaginable relief warred in his soul with the inconsolable grief that he was finally allowed to show. He was lost but at the same time, he had found himself in having done what he had so desperately longed to.  
  
Tears on her face, Harriet knelt down at her husband's side, embracing him without saying anything. Silently, those who had listened now closed the circle, offering support and consolation in their own, timid way.  
  
Trish was the first to remember who had initiated the process that had led them to this point. Supported by Sergei, she stepped up to Dave and both shared a long, silent hug, making the young man understand that the lady in his arms was finally able to tell her son 'Goodbye'.  
  
"Thank you, Captain," Trish said in a very low but steady voice. Then she let him go and embraced Cate, pulling her tight. "And you, Lieutenant. You can't even begin to understand how much this means to me."  
  
The two young JAGs didn't know what to say. Simultaneously, they reached for the other's hand, holding on to the safety of that anchor.  
  
Suddenly, they found themselves face to face with their CO and instantly snapped to attention.  
  
"Admiral, sir!"  
  
Bud drew a still shaky breath but managed to smile. "I know I will have to go the official way to bring this about but as the Secretary of the Navy is with us today, I am sure he will know what to do and I can take the liberty to ask what's on my mind. Lieutenant Raleigh, Captain Mackerras, would you consent to stepping in for Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb when they will be posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor?"  
  
August 22nd, 2033 2328 ZULU The White House Rose Garden Washington, D.C.  
  
David Mackerras had been in a pensive mood all day. Too much had transpired in the incredibly short period of six weeks since he had been standing on this very stage, facing the President, receiving his DFC.  
  
The scenario was just the same. Dress Blues, Dress Whites, a marching band, the President, his CO with his wife, a lot of high-ranking Navy and Marine Corps personnel, bright sunshine, a warm summer wind...  
  
And yet - Dave felt as if he were years older than he had been six weeks ago. True, his age started with a '3' now but that wasn't it. The experience of what he had been through during the last few weeks had somehow shifted his priorities. Or maybe not... No, his beliefs and convictions were the same, he had merely reaffirmed the fact that he fought for the right things. But all the pain he had witnessed in other people, all the struggles of being caught in between duty and conscience, the burdens that life could bring - at times, Dave had almost felt afraid of not being able to face what might lie in store for him.  
  
His admiration for Admiral Roberts had risen beyond belief. This man, who had already endured so much before witnessing the catastrophe, this man who had willingly sacrificed his honor, his self-respect and his peace of mind in order to protect the ones he loved. For thirty years, he had carried the burden of living with the lie, building up a strong façade to hide the pain that kept raging in his soul, going on with his life as if nothing had happened. Dave was convinced that nothing but the very deepest love could make someone take that much upon himself.  
  
And once he had managed to understand his CO's motivation - not only from the head, but from the heart - Dave had discovered two conflicting emotions within himself. He felt awed, and he felt envious. What an incredible gift to be allowed to love someone so much that everything else became insignificant.  
  
Dave had never in his life been allowed to experience love with all its implications. Or so he had thought. But then, unconsciously at first, understanding had grown in his mind until, just a few days ago, he had become aware that he might have it within reach. Right now, standing at attention, he wasn't able to cast a glance to his right side, but he didn't need to. He could feel her presence. Catherine Raleigh was with him and just a few days ago, Dave had finally been able to admit to himself that he wanted her with him wherever he went. But... would she want it, too?  
  
The doubts were eating him alive.  
  
Luckily, right now he had something else to concentrate on. The President had left the speaker's podium to Retired Admiral Sturgis Turner who now took his stand and faced the audience, covering his emotions by shuffling the papers of his speech until he felt ready to begin.  
  
"More than forty years ago," Sturgis began, his voice surprisingly stable, "I met a young man who was a midshipman at the Naval Academy, just like me. And from the moment we presented ourselves to each other, I got the distinct feeling that Harmon Rabb, Jr., was special. There was a gleam in his eyes that showed determination, passion and an almost unhealthy quantity of deeply running emotions that would soon distinguish him from many of my comrades. He was to become one of my truest friends.  
  
"This emotional side of his character often got him in trouble and more than once I was seriously worried that he'd never make it to full lieutenant before ending up in a court-martial. But without his tendency of turning what he believed in into a personal crusade, he would never have become the person whom we've gathered here today to honor. Regardless of what he was doing at whatever time I met him after the Academy, whether he was flying or being a lawyer, this passion and devotion to what Harmon Rabb thought was just and right and true never left him. And I started wondering if he would ever find a person whose character matched his. He did.  
  
"I came to know Sarah Mackenzie when she and Commander Rabb had already been working together for more than five years. This would be an amount of time that, for others, would suffice three times to make a working relationship become routine. Not for them. They were equal in their determination to serve the right cause as well as in their deep loyalty to each other, their co-workers and their country. But they were profoundly different in how they approached their goals. Where Rabb was passionate, Mackenzie was considerate. Where Rabb followed his intuition, Mackenzie would apply logic. Where Rabb threatened to lose his footing, Mackenzie would be down-to-earth enough to keep them both on the ground. It was this difference in mentality that had them disagree far more often than many partnerships would have been able to survive. And it was just that difference in mentality that made them the team they were.  
  
"Neither of them ever put their own lives first when difficult situations needed immediate action. For them, this was no issue at all - it was the way they saw their duty and they felt committed to what they had sworn to do. Maybe it was this exemplary attitude that made God grant them more luck than most people would think possible, saving them from many situations that most would not have survived. We are all grateful for the good they did while they were with us. But we are infinitely more indebted to them for what they did in the full awareness that they were making the hardest sacrifice ever: Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, United States Marine Corps, and Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., United States Navy, decided to sacrifice their lives and their devotion to each other for the safeguard of the people that, back then, depended on them. Today we can only award them the Medal of Honor. May God eternally reward them for their deed."  
  
While everyone present was desperately trying to keep their emotions in check, Sturgis motioned for a Marine lieutenant and an Ensign to follow him to the center of the podium. Each of the young men was carrying a cushion with a case.  
  
"Lieutenant Catherine Raleigh, Captain David Mackerras, front and center!"  
  
Cate and Dave stepped forward and snapped to attention again in front of Sturgis. The admiral cast both of them barely noticeable smiles as he pinned the medals to their uniforms and then saluted. The President had left her seat and paid her compliments to the two young JAGs who had taken the places of their deceased colleagues. It would have been her task to conduct the awarding ceremony but just like everyone present, she appreciated the fact that a true friend of the heroes was here today to do it.  
  
Upon command, all military members present saluted. As everyone stood in deep silence, a drum roll was heard. Then the band's solo trumpet played the fanfare of honor while four enlisted, two Navy and two Marines, were slowly lowering and then folding two Star-Spangled Banners that had been fluttering next to the podium. A staff sergeant and a petty officer then climbed the stairs to the stage and halted in front of Cate and Dave, handing them the neat triangles of cloth.  
  
"On behalf of a grateful nation," Sturgis declared solemnly.  
  
Down in the public, the people in the front row, colleagues, friends and family, each reached for their neighbors' hands as the roar of the jets flying the Missing Man in honor of the two officers grew louder and louder.  
  
Bud Jay Roberts again felt his tears rise as, directly above them, two of the jets left the line and soared off into the blue sky. 'Justice has been done,' he thought with an inward calm that he had forgotten existed.  
  
After the ceremony, Cate and Dave had excused themselves, feeling the need to take a stroll through the garden for a little emotional chill-out. They were walking in silence, enjoying each other's company, deeply content with what they had been able to bring about - and just a little sad that the adventure was now definitely over.  
  
Cate inwardly sighed. She had gotten accustomed to not needing an excuse to call her partner in the middle of the night, to spend hours talking on the phone or come over for dinner and coffee. She would miss their traveling, their closeness that had developed during this extraordinary case. She knew they needed to somehow go back to 'normal' now, but after what they'd been through, after all the dangers, all the uncertainties, all the time and strength devoted to their quest, after the one unexpected, yet incredibly beautiful kiss they had shared - what was 'normal' anymore?  
  
Last night, Cate had finally been able to admit to herself that she had fallen in love with the man who was walking beside her. True, she had had similar feelings for a long time now, but she had always been inclined to dismiss them as caused by their metaphysical, cosmic, purely coincidental - or whatever one might feel inclined to call it - link to Rabb and Mackenzie. Only now that the investigation was over had she had the quiet and the time to sort out her own heart. And she had found it tied tightly to Dave's, in a way that was unknown to her, that somehow scared her but at the same time felt like heaven. Cate had no idea what Dave would think about her feelings, or how she could possibly allow them to prevail in her heart, now that they were going back to the normal JAG routine. She only knew that she would hurt tremendously to deny what she was feeling. 'Mac, I guess I'm starting to understand what you must have gone through,' she addressed her unknown twin like she had done so often during the last weeks.  
  
Suddenly, Dave slowed down his pace, causing Cate to follow suit. Eventually he stopped, an uneasy, almost frightened expression on his face. Cate's eyebrows went up slightly in astonishment. "Hey, Marine, what's up? You okay?"  
  
Dave nervously cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, trying to hide his confusion. "Dammit, I've been thinking forever about how this was going to work but..." he murmured, more to himself than to her.  
  
"What?"  
  
He looked up, finally willing himself to meet her glance. She started when he gently took her right hand in his own. "Cate, I... this is probably going to sound pretty weird but... what I wanted to say is that you... I mean, this isn't just because of Harm and Mac... I..." He was lost.  
  
His glance was full of endearing helplessness. She smiled compassionately, her free hand trembling slightly as she softly caressed his cheek, not caring if anyone might see them. "Take your time. Try again."  
  
Dave swallowed. Maybe this was the only chance he would ever get. 'Don't screw it up, Stearman,' he told himself, almost hearing Harm order him to get a grip. He took a deep breath. Do or die trying.  
  
"Cate, believe it or not, I'm in love with you. And I'm in head over heels. You are my first thought when I wake and the last before I go to sleep. You are in my dreams and you're with me everywhere I go. I swear, this is definitely not because of Rabb and Mackenzie. It's you, Cate, only and entirely you. And if I learned one thing from our alter egos, it's that you'd better tell the one you love as soon as you get the chance. I'm..."  
  
Chuckling a little helplessly, he for a moment averted his eyes, but then raised his glance again to hers. "I'm scared as hell about what's going on inside me, but I've decided to take the plunge, because everything else is less important than you are. Believe me, Cate, I'm well aware that this is the craziest thing I've ever done. But I don't care because I feel it's the right thing to do. Cate, will you marry me?" With one hand he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a stunningly beautiful sapphire solitaire.  
  
Cate was speechless. She looked down confusedly, looked up again into his beautiful eyes that were of the exact same color as the stone, then turned her head to the side to stare somewhere indefinite, swallowing, only to turn her glance back and meet his again that told of cold fear of being rejected... and of love and readiness to commit.  
  
Tears rose quickly in Cate's eyes. Still she could find no words. Two or three times she tried to speak but shut her mouth again. Eventually, she decided to act instead of speaking. A teary but radiant smile was spreading over her face as she closed the distance, stretched up and very tenderly kissed Dave on the lips. Then she drew back, taking in the bewildered expression on his face that slowly turned to joy. With trembling fingers she took the ring from him and tried to put it on her left hand, failing because the trembling kept increasing and her vision was blurred. But then she felt his gentle hands guide hers and the ring easily slid into place. Unable to speak himself, Dave pulled her close and held her.  
  
"I love you so much, my ladysquid," she eventually heard him whisper against her hair.  
  
"I love you, too, jarhead," she managed to choke out, overwhelmed.  
  
When they heard a throat being cleared behind them, they broke apart, smiling embarrassedly. Admiral Roberts, with Captain Sims at his side, was observing the scene. Both seniors were grinning.  
  
"Did I just witness something that I might have to sue you for?" Bud asked, his tone conspiratorial.  
  
Dave straightened, took Cate's left hand in his right and looked his CO in the eyes. "You did, sir," he only answered, his voice firm.  
  
Just then, Harriet inhaled sharply. "My God, Lieutenant, is that an engagement ring you're wearing?"  
  
Bud instantly stared at Cate's left hand, swallowing his astonishment.  
  
Cate cast Dave a loving smile before she met Harriet's glance. "Yes, ma'am, it is."  
  
Bud gave the Marine captain a sharp stare. "You've known each other for six weeks now. Don't you think this is rather... rash?"  
  
Dave's gaze didn't waver. His reply came accompanied by a slight, open, joyful smile. "We've been running for almost forty years now, sir," was all he said.  
  
Bud and Harriet sucked in their breaths, staring first at them, then at each other. Harriet frantically held on to Bud's arm in search of something to lean on, whereas the admiral suddenly began to look around confusedly, his eyes misty, chuckling incredulously. He kept shaking his head, trying to calm down and get his astonishment in check. Eventually, he let his subordinates see a radiant smile that did nothing to hide his threatening tears. His voice was hoarse but rang with joy.  
  
"Well... it was about damned time!!"  
  
****************************  
  
What do you do When love comes along And offers your heart A chance to move on With no guarantees No safety net You trust what you feel You take that first step  
  
Just close your eyes Reach for the moment Before it slips by Here is your second chance Take it and fly  
  
(Trisha Yearwood: 'Second Chance')  
  
THE END 


End file.
